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Silas E. Ross:

Recollections of Life at Glendale, Nevada,
Work at the University of Nevada,
and Western Funeral Practice

Interviewee: Silas E. Ross
Interviewed: 1969
Published: 1970
Interviewer: Mary Ellen Glass
UNOHP Catalog #040

Description

Born in 1887 at Glendale, Truckee Meadows, Silas Earl Ross was the son of a pioneer rancher and farmer. Following
his public schooling at Glendale and Reno, Mr. Ross entered the University of Nevada, where he received his degree
in mining engineering. After graduation in 1909, he remained at the university to teach chemistry, and at that time
he worked in food, drug, and soil analysis for the state.

In 1914 he found a new career, that of funeral director. As a partner in the Ross-Burke Mortuary, he remained active
until his retirement in 1966. The promotion of the community and education claimed as much of his attention as
did his business. For eight years he was a member of the Reno City Council, serving also as mayor pro tempore
and as a member of the committees on streets and finance. From 1932 to 1957 he was on the University of Nevada
Board of Regents, and served as its chairman for most of the period. Mr. Ross was a charter member of the Reno
Chamber of Commerce, the Nevada Childrens Foundation, and the Reno Rotary Club. He has also written and
lectured widely on the history of his profession, the state, and Masonry. His role in Masonry, nationally as well as
in Nevada, was conspicuous. Mr. Ross became the states Grand Master in 1923, and was a dedicated member of a
multitude of the orders branches.

In his oral history Silas Ross gives much detail on student life in the school at rural Glendale and at the University
of Nevada at a time when the university was emerging from its status as little more than a preparatory school and
becoming a true institution of higher learning. Relying on his good memory and the written record, Ross offers a
close look at the university from the highest levels.

Mr. Ross entered the mortuary business when it was becoming professionalized; when the undertaker was being
transformed into the funeral director or funeral service operator. He played a major role in this transition by working
for higher educational standards, more scientific approaches, and humane innovations in funeral services. Despite
the refinements he and his colleagues promoted, he clearly shows that the funeral business in Nevada often required
ruggedness and resourcefulness even in the twentieth century. His fascination with the burial practices of Nevada’s
many ethnic groups shows him to be a man of understanding and sympathy.

Silas E. Ross:

Recollections of Life at Glendale, Nevada,
Work at the University of Nevada,
and Western Funeral Practice

Silas E. Ross:

Recollections of Life at Glendale, Nevada
Work at the University of Nevada,
and Western Funeral Practice

An Oral History Conducted by Mary Ellen Glass

University of Nevada Oral History Program

University of Nevada Oral History Program
Mail Stop 0324
Reno, Nevada 89557
unohp @unr. edu
http: / / www. unr. edu/ oralhistory

Publication Staff:
Director: Mary Ellen Glass

University of Nevada Oral History Program Use Policy

All UNOHP interviews are copyrighted materials. They may be downloaded and/or
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cited. The citation should include the title of the work, the name of the person or
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was published or produced by the University of Nevada Oral History Program (and
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publication, or to use any photos found within the transcripts, should be addressed
to the UNOHP, Mail Stop 0324, University of Nevada, Reno, Reno, NV 89557-0324.
Original recordings of most UNOHP interviews are available for research purposes
upon request.

Contents

Preface to the Digital Edition ix

Introduction xi

Special Introduction, by Professor Michael J. Brodhead xiii

Aknowledgement xv

1. The Ross Family of the Truckee Meadows 1

2. My Association with the University of Nevada 33

Beginnings of the University of Nevada: The Elko Period,

Presidents Brown and Jones

Memoir on Early University of Nevada Faculty and Buildings

Joseph E. Stubbs

Archer W. Hendrick

Walter E. Clark

Leon W. Hartman

John O. Moseley and Gilbert Parker

Malcolm Love

Minard Stout

University of Nevada Board of Regents, 1931-1957
University of Nevada Student Life, 1905-1957

3. Career, A New Phase: The State Analytic Laboratory

165

Silas E. Ross

viii

4. A Career in Funeral Practice

Historical Sketch of Funeral Practice

Learning and Then Operating the Funeral Business

Professional Associations

Results of Research in Funeral Preparation and Service

Cemeteries, Mausoleums, Columbariums

Local and Ethnic Funeral Customs

Famous or Unusual Funerals

169

5. Conclusion

259

Original Index: For Reference Only

261

Preface to the Digital Edition

Established in 1964, the University of
Nevada Oral History Program (UNOHP)
explores the remembered past through
rigorous oral history interviewing, creating a
record for present and future researchers. The
programs collection of primary source oral
histories is an important body of information
about significant events, people, places,
and activities in twentieth and twenty-first
century Nevada and the West.

The UNOHP wishes to make the
information in its oral histories accessible
to a broad range of patrons. To achieve
this goal, its transcripts must speak with
an intelligible voice. However, no type font
contains symbols for physical gestures and
vocal modulations which are integral parts
of verbal communication. When human
speech is represented in print, stripped of
these signals, the result can be a morass of
seemingly tangled syntax and incomplete
sentences—totally verbatim transcripts
sometimes verge on incoherence. Therefore,
this transcript has been lightly edited.

While taking great pains not to alter
meaning in any way, the editor may have
removed false starts, redundancies, and the
“uhs,” “ahs,” and other noises with which
speech is often liberally sprinkled; compressed
some passages which, in unaltered form,
misrepresent the chroniclers meaning; and
relocated some material to place information
in its intended context. Laughter is represented
with [laughter] at the end of a sentence in
which it occurs, and ellipses are used to
indicate that a statement has been interrupted
or is incomplete.. .or that there is a pause for
dramatic effect.

As with all of our oral histories, while
we can vouch for the authenticity of the
interviews in the UNOHP collection, we
advise readers to keep in mind that these are
remembered pasts, and we do not claim that
the recollections are entirely free of error.
We can state, however, that the transcripts
accurately reflect the oral history recordings
on which they were based. Accordingly, each
transcript should be approached with the

Silas E. Ross

same prudence that the intelligent reader
exercises when consulting government
records, newspaper accounts, diaries, and
other sources of historical information.
All statements made here constitute the
remembrance or opinions of the individuals
who were interviewed, and not the opinions
of the UNOHP.

In order to standardize the design of all
UNOHP transcripts for the online database,
most have been reformatted, a process that
was completed in 2012. This document may
therefore differ in appearance and pagination
from earlier printed versions. Rather than
compile entirely new indexes for each volume,
the UNOHP has made each transcript fully
searchable electronically. If a previous version
of this volume existed, its original index has
been appended to this document for reference
only. A link to the entire catalog can be found
online at http://oralhistory.unr.edu/.

For more information on the UNOHP
or any of its publications, please contact the
University of Nevada Oral History Program at
Mail Stop 0324, University of Nevada, Reno,
NV, 89557-0324 or by calling 775/784-6932.

Alicia Barber
Director, UNOHP
July 2012

Introduction

Silas Earl Ross was born in western
Nevada in 1887. Ele has compiled a record of
useful accomplishments in his native state.
Professor Michael Brodhead’s introduction
to this volume outlines and evaluates Mr.
Ross’s many contributions to local education,
business, and society.

When invited to participate in the Oral
History Project, Mr. Ross accepted graciously,
although indicating knowledge that this
endeavor would consume large amounts of
time in an already full schedule. Two taping
sessions were held at Mr. Ross’s home in Reno
in August, 1965; two more followed a year
later. After another hiatus of many months—
again, the busy schedule—twenty-two more
sessions completed the work, these between
March, 1968, and September, 1969, at Mr.
Ross’s office in the Reno Masonic Temple.
Silas Ross cooperated fully with the aims of the
Oral History Project during these recording
sessions, answering questions both from
memory and from his own research notes. Not
every activity of Mr. Ross’s busy civic career
is included; nevertheless, the researcher will

find a great volume of useful material for the
history of the University of Nevada and in
the discussion of Nevada funeral practice.
Certainly, no future writing on either of these
topics will be complete without reference to
the Ross memoir. Mr. Ross’s review of his
oral history script resulted in few significant
changes in language or content; his editing
was mainly confined to clarifying a number of
sentences. Mr. Ross has generously assigned
his literary rights in the oral history to the
University of Nevada, Reno.

The Oral History Project of the university
of Nevada, Reno, Library preserves the past
and the present for future research by tape
recording the memoirs of persons who have
figured prominently in the development of
Nevada and the West. Scripts resulting from
the interviews are deposited in the Special
Collections departments of the University
libraries at Reno and Las Vegas. Silas E. Ross’s
oral history is designated as open for research.

Mary Ellen Glass

University of Nevada, Reno, 1970

Special Introduction

Few Nevadans could equal the record
of Silas Ross for service to the state, the
Reno community, and the University of
Nevada. The narrative that follows, full as
it is, emphasizes only some of his many
endeavors—his educational background,
his long tenure as a regent of the University,
and his experiences as a funeral director. Yet
there were many other satisfying pursuits and
contributions, some of which, perhaps out of
modesty, are only touched upon here.

Born in 1887 at Glendale, Truckee
Meadows, Silas Earl Ross was the son of
a pioneer rancher and farmer. Following
his public schooling at Glendale and Reno,
Mr. Ross entered the University, where he
received his degree in mining engineering.
After graduation in 1909, he remained at the
University to teach chemistry and at the same
time he worked in food, drug, and soil analysis
for the state.

In 1914 he found a new career, that of
funeral director. As a partner in the Ross-
Burke Mortuary, he remained active until his
retirement in 1966. Par Mr. Ross, however, the

promotion of the community and education
claimed at least as much of his attention as
did his business. For eight years he was a
member of the Reno City Council, serving
also as mayor pro tern and as a member of
the committees on streets and finance. From
1932 to 1957 he was on the University’s board
of regents and was the chairman of this body
for most of the period.

Among his many other activities were
charter membership in the Reno Chamber
of Commerce, the Nevada Children’s
Foundation, and the Reno Rotary Club.
He has also written and lectured widely on
the history of his profession, the state, and
Masonry.

His role in Masonry, nationally as well
as in Nevada, was conspicuous. Mr. Ross
became the state’s Grand Master in 1923 and
was a dedicated member of a multitude of the
order’s branches.

Again, the emphasis here is upon
education and professional matters. The
account which follows gives much detail
on life as a student in the school of rural

XIV

Silas E. Ross

Glendale and at the University of Nevada at a
time when the University was emerging from
its status as a little more than a preparatory
school and becoming a true institution of
higher learning. Relying on both his good
memory and the written record, Mr. Ross’
remarks on his many years as a regent offer a
close look at the University from the highest
administrative levels.

Perhaps of more interest to the general
reader are his recollections of life in the
mortuary business in Nevada. Mr. Ross
entered the business when it was becoming
professionalized; when the “undertaker” was
being transformed into the “funeral director”
or “funeral service operator.” As is evident
in his reminiscences, Mr. Ross played a
major role in the transition by working for
higher educational standards, more scientific
approaches, and humane innovations in
funeral services. Despite the refinements he
and his colleagues promoted, he clearly shows
that the funeral business in Nevada often
required ruggedness and resourcefulness
even in the twentieth century. His fascination
with the burial practices of Nevada’s many
ethnic groups shows him to be a man of
understanding and sympathy.

Here, then, is a record of an energetic,
community-minded Nevadan. The selection
of Silas Ross as a subject for an oral history
interview was a happy one.

Michael J. Brodhead
Associate Professor of History
University of Nevada, Reno
1971

Acknowledgement

Dedicated to Mervylle, my wife, who never gives less than her best.
Silas E. Ross

The Ross Family of the
Truckee Meadows

My father, Orrin Charles Ross, was born
in Massachusetts, just across the Vermont
border, on October 5, 1838, and he was of
Scotch-Irish descent. His ancestors were
immigrants to New England long prior to the
Revolutionary War. His paternal grandfather
was born in Vermont and followed the
merchandising business. His father, Silas
Ross, also born in Vermont, moved to
Massachusetts in his early majority but later
returned to Ludlow, Vermont, and engaged
in merchandising business until 1849, when
his family moved to Illinois for a short time
and settled in northeastern Iowa. He took
up merchandising and then farming. He was
married to Parnell Densmore, also a native of
Vermont. [There were] five children, Emily
Parnell Messenger, Orrin C. Ross, Calvin T.
Ross, Allan Ross, and another daughter, who
died in infancy.

Orrin C. spent his first eleven years in
Vermont, then emigrated with his parents
to Illinois, and then Iowa. He spent ten years
in Iowa. He was raised amidst the pioneer
surroundings. His home was ten miles from

school, and such an education as he received
was during the winter months when there
wasn’t too much to do on the farm. They rode
or walked that distance. His education was
very definitely limited by the country school.
But he wanted more education, and there was
no opportunity to do it there, so he became an
avid reader and read everything he could find.
That education was limited, but, in helping
develop the farm, he did this reading and
became, in my judgment, one of the most best
informed men that ever breathed. (Of course,
I’m prejudiced, but I’d put him up against any
of ’em.) Between observation and reading,
he became well informed upon all topics of
general interest.

When he was twenty-one years of age,
he didn’t see any opportunity for him in
Iowa, and he decided he’d like to be a farmer.
He picked out, or chose, a piece of land in
northeastern Iowa in the area of what is now
Strawberry Point, or Lamont, and said that he
was going west to make his stake, and he said
he’d send his surplus home to his father to buy
this piece of land for him. Tie started out for

Silas E. Ross

Pike’s Peak. He had a partner by the name of
Folsom, Hiram Folsom. He, too, was on his
way to Pike’s Peak. They hooked up with a
wagon train that was on its way clear west to
Downieville, California. When they arrived
at Pike’s Peak, they rested there for awhile,
and they looked around, and things didn’t
look good to them. While their finances were
somewhat limited, they decided they’d go on.
When they got out around the Humboldt
River, they were broke and they didn’t have
any food, but they did have a span of young
oxen. They borrowed fifty dollars from the
head of a wagon train and bought a sack of
flour. And with the alkali of the desert and the
Humboldt River water, they made hardtack,
and that’s all they had, until they arrived in
Downieville.

One of the interesting highlights of that
was this: my father said to me that when he
left Iowa, his mother and father were “deep
water” Baptists and raised the children that
way. They thought everybody in the West
were atheists. His parents fitted him up with
such clothing as they could afford— his suit
his mother made for him. But more, he had
more literature to convert the heathen out
here than he had the other things! He said
when he left Iowa and arrived on the plains,
it looked desert-like, and he said, “You could
find my knee tracks every hundred yards. But
as I began to observe God’s work in a country
that I had never seen before, or couldn’t even
imagine—you see, being born in Vermont and
that area, of timber and all of those things, and
then into Illinois, then Iowa and that area, I
had begun to think that God is everywhere.”
And then he concluded, “He was everywhere
because such things couldn’t grow without
the help of an all-wise Father of us all.” And
he told me, “Son, I observed that no matter
where we were—it could be in the alkali area,
it could be in a dirty, desert prairie layout

with just a few brush, and even above the
timberline, you’d find a flower—God’s gift.
A lovely thing.” He loved flowers. (I have a
slip out here [in my yard] of a rose bush that
he planted on the farm in the early ’70s, and
when we were married, I took a slip off and
planted it at 1043 North Virginia (my home).
When my son was married, I gave him a
root off it; he has it. And I brought one over
here to my present residence. That rose bush
burned down, clear down, when the house
was burned down in ’79. In the spring that
rose grew again and blossomed.) Then he
said, “Son, I observed that all the way, as we
came through the Rockies, and even above the
timberline, there were flowers. And I decided
that I could commune with my God whether
I was walking, lying down, sitting down, or
on my knees.” He further said, “I have an
incredible love for Him because He had it for
me and all of us.”

The wagon train continued through
Nevada, and when they arrived in the area
this side of Fallon, Nevada (that was a station),
Ben Plummer, who joined them and became
very friendly with them, was one of three or
four assigned by the wagon train master to
go afoot from there across into Placerville to
pick up the mail and bring the mail across
the mountains to Downieville. So they came
on, and Father said that even the stock could
smell the Truckee River water as they came
in around the Wadsworth area. He said the
old-time wagon train master cautioned them
before they arrived at the river (and even the
stock, even though they were sore-footed,
picked up speed), “Now, don’t drink too much
water. Cautiously belly-bump your desire.”*
They rested on the Truckee River a short time
and then came into Glendale, Nevada.

*belly-bump: to he prone, as on a sled.

The Ross Family of the Truckee Meadows

Inasmuch as they were going to
Downieville, they didn’t take the cutoff down
Truckee Canyon to go across by Carson into
Genoa. They came straight ahead towards
Truckee and thence took the path, or wagon
trail, towards Sierra City and Downieville.
Others that wanted to go into the Sacramento
area went over to what is now Dog Valley. At
Glendale, they rested their stock. (This was
known as Stone and Gates Crossing, not the
Jamison Crossing. Jamison was further down
the river at what was called the tollhouse, and
that’s near the reef in Truckee Canyon, east of
Vista.) [Jamison] engaged in that endeavor
for many years or until he was called back
by the Mormons. In Glendale, some of the
people traded their weaker stock for stronger
stock and paid the difference. During the rest
period, Father and Hiram Folsom had plenty
of time to walk over Truckee Meadows. The
wagon train left Glendale in time to arrive at
Downieville by early fall.

When they arrived in Downieville,
California, the caravan disbanded. Father and
Folsom had a debt of fifty dollars and some
hardtack. Now, they’re mining. So Father said
to his partner, “Folsom, you go out and do
your prospecting and see what you can find.
We’ll sell the oxen and put it on our debt, and
then I’ll split wood behind the saloons until
I earn the money to liquidate the balance of
our debt.” They accepted twenty-five dollars
for their oxen, and it took Father practically
all winter to earn the balance due on their
obligation.

They fooled around Downieville awhile,
prospecting, and did find a pretty good
development. But Father said money wasn’t
coming in fast enough, and he took a contract
driving oxen from Downieville to Virginia
City en route by Glendale. He did that for
a period of time. He was hurt in Glendale,
thrown off a wagon seat, and he had to give up

freighting during convalescence. He remained
in Glendale during convalescence. He liked
the area so much he remained in Glendale.
That was in 1863.

He said Downieville was a typical mining
camp and post office, and there was some
agriculture around the particular area. It
was also a mining center for the entire area.
Freighting went from there to all mining
areas.

I here desire to mention an incident that
impressed me greatly. In 1910, a man by
the name of Hiram Folsom, then living in
Marysville, California, read my father’s name
in an article from Reno, Nevada, that was
published in The Sacramento Bee. Folsom
addressed a letter to Orrin C. Ross in Reno,
Nevada and asked if he was the Orrin C. Ross
that crossed the plains in 1859. Father replied
immediately and said he was, and, “If you are
the Hiram Folsom that crossed with me, come
over and see me. But give me a little notice,
because I know where there’s one of that party
that’s living. His name is Ben Plummer of
Eureka, Nevada. If you give me a little time, I
can probably get him to come

Folsom wrote that he would be over on
a particular date in the future, and Father
got in touch with Ben Plummer. They joined
each other in the middle of the specified
week in Reno and drove out to the farm.
Plummer had to leave early for Eureka.
(In passing, Plummer was one of the three
or four men from this wagon train that
left the party out near the Fallon area and
went to pick up the mail for the party from
Placerville and carried it across country
to Downieville.) Plummer remained a day
or so and then left for Eureka. I had the
privilege of going down to the farm on
Sunday to meet Mr. Folsom and hear the
two old-timers reminisce. I laid on the lawn
where they sat—each had a comfortable

Silas E. Ross

chair, a rocker— and listened to them relate
their experiences over the plains. They each
seemed to be quite eager to tell his story,
and one would just about get through with
what he had to say and the other one’d say,
“Do you remember...,” and so on. And there
I heard a lot about the experiences they had
crossing the plains and something about
what they had done since they drifted apart.
I was so intrigued that I didn’t take a note,
and I have to depend upon my memory.

Among the stories that they discussed was
the first Indian, who appeared—the apparent
first Indian trouble. The Indians were coming
towards the caravan. They looked like a
warring tribe because they were armed with
bows and arrows and some guns and had
their war paint on. The wagon master had the
train form in the protective position with the
wagons on the outside. The master alone went
out to meet a representative of the Indians.
The chief came out and met the wagon master.
Each understood the sign language. The
Indians were not particularly interested in
the white caravan at all; they wanted to know
whether the people of this caravan had seen
a certain band of Indians going south with
which these were at war.

Another time, further on, they were again
stopped by Indians, and, when the head of
the wagon train and the Indian identified
each other, the Indians were friendly. They
asked the white men where they were going,
and the master of the caravan explained.
The Indian chief told the wagon master that
there was a tribe of Indians ahead that were
marauders and they were dangerous. The
chief voluntarily gave them a guide and three
or four others to lead the caravan by or around
this group of Indians. And then the Indians
left on their way.

They traded trinkets, according to these
two people, but the thing that the Indians

liked best was tobacco, which was interesting
to me. Gosh, tobacco wouldn’t grow out in
this area. You could buy a quantity of it. But
I’ve been told that they’ve traded trinkets for,
oh, furs or blankets, and so on.

Did they tell me about where this was?
Well, the first one was somewhere in Nebraska.
So that wasn’t too far from home. And the
other one was out in Colorado somewhere
because they were approaching the Rockies.
Indians were supposed to be holed up
somewhere in the area.

I said in my earlier remarks Father left
Iowa to come to Pike’s Peak because of the
mining boom in that area, thinking that he
could make his fortune there. But when he
arrived at Pike’s Peak, the boom had ended,
and all available claims seemed to be located.
He made up his mind to go further west to
Downieville and seek their fortune. They had
a little success in mining. It didn’t amount to
much. While they were residing in Glendale
in the early ’60s, the district of what is now
known as Ely was discovered and called the
Robinson district. In the fall, Father put
a pack on a burro and walked out to the
Ely area to look over the district. When he
arrived there, it seemed that every available
prospect was located. He liked the country,
and particularly that area which would be
east and southeast of Ely. He said, “It looked
like good cow country.” He traveled over the
area and discovered a spring and the little
creek and water. He squatted on the land and
made up his mind to remain there the rest of
the winter, or until he knew how far north the
new Central Pacific Railroad would be, in the
hopes that he could raise cattle in the Ely area
and herd them that distance to the railroad.
When he found out the distance, he gave up
the idea and came by way of Elko and back
to the Glendale area. As near as I can picture
it, this spring of water that he squatted on is

The Ross Family of the Truckee Meadows

near the site of the mill, or smelter. I went
out to Ely in 1910 and around in that area. I
visited a day with my parents before making
the trip, rather asked me to observe certain
localities. He said about as follows: “I think
that the mines are in the low junipers on the
west side of the valley, up the canyon. I think
Ely is at the foot of the canyon towards the
east, and it is in junipers—East Ely. And the
railroad town would be further to the east on
a little higher ground.” He said, “I think this
mill and smelter is across the valley about east,
and about where I squatted.” He further said,
“I think it’s about fifteen miles between the
smelter and mill and the first mines.

When I got off the train, I thought Father
was mistaken in his directions. I arose the
next morning and looked about. I found that
Father was correct. Upon making inquiry, the
air line distance between the smelter and the
lower mines was fourteen and some-tenths
miles.

Did he mention any of the people that
were there? Oh, no. He said that he thought
that most of the people that were in there and
who founded, or located, these mines were
Mormons. And I think they were the forbears
of the Robinsons that are here in Reno today,
because I’ve talked to them. I talked to Dave
Bartley, who was one of the early pioneers
of the Ely district and was locator of one of
those big mines, and he told me a story that
corresponded somewhat to what Father had
said, that these first prospects were located by
men or a man by the name of Robinson, who
was from Mormon people.

In 1867, Father still had the idea that he’d
like to go into the cattle business. He wasn’t
sure that he would like the Iowa farming, so he
entered into an agreement with John F. Stone
of Stone and Gates Crossing. This agreement
was a purchase contract for the Red Rock
property, twenty-five miles north of Reno.

About the fall of 1915, Mrs. Ross and
I took Father and Mother, via auto, to Red
Rock. I went down to the ranch and picked
them up at the home farm after he did the
chores in the morning. We toured way up on
the summit so that he could see the summit
range and then came back to the Red Rock
farmhouse for an early dinner. Father laid
down for a while; he was an older man, of
course. And then I drove him down across
the flat and around a spring (the schoolhouse
spring, I guess it is), came back and picked up
Mother, and we drove them back to the ranch
in Truckee Meadows in time to do his chores
that evening. He said, “My grief, Mother, the
first time I took that round trip, it took me
three and a half days.”

He held onto that contract purchase, but
when the railroad came through, he decided
to go back to Iowa to see the land that had
been purchased. He had been operating a
commission business to Virginia City, baling
hay and hauling other supplies, oxen, and
finally horses. He liquidated this business,
and he went back to visit his folks. Now, his
father did not buy the piece of land that Father
wanted, because in his father’s judgment, this
other was better. And Father never questioned
it. He didn’t like the area anyhow. He stayed
two weeks, and at breakfast one morning, he
said, “Now, Mother and Father, I’m going back
West. The farm is yours.” Father’s farmland in
Iowa was recorded in the name of his parents
so that if anything had happened to Father out
here, they wouldn’t have a probate.

Father went to Chicago, and there he
purchased a registered roan Durham bull
calf with the idea of getting a good sire and
coming back to Truckee Meadows. The man
and the calf came West together, the bull in
the express car and Father on the same train.
Reno was on the map then. He took the young
bull off and put him in a stockyard in Reno

Silas E. Ross

’til the bull’s legs were good again, and then
he took him to Glendale in a spring wagon,
tied him down. He sold that animal to a man
by the name of George Alt, who had a farm
just across the river where the old Manogue
School used to be. He sold the bull for enough
to pay for the bull and the transportation out
and all of Father’s expenses, and reserved
three years of service on the bull after the first
year. He started buying up heifer calves. This
was the first sire for the beginning of a cattle
ranch at Red Rock.

He bought this roan Durham because this
breed was large and made good beef, had a
lot of weight, and because they gave a great
deal of milk, and at the same time, could
travel. They’d be good for the range. So he
had some for dairy and some for the range.
But he concluded that maybe he ought to
get something a little smaller for the range.
He then crossed the roan Durham herd with
the shorthorn red Durham. But he finally
eliminated most of his roan Durhams, and
then he went into whitefaces. And he found
using a whiteface bull with a Durham gave
him some whiteface cattle.

Then he found that most of the heifers had
trouble with their first calf. Father didn’t have
much education, but, boy, he was observant.
Father had read about the Angus cattle
and their small heads, and [how they] also
produced heavy beef. So he brought in, then,
an Angus bull to breed his heifers. His theory
was this: if he could breed these heifers to a
bull that had a small head, that head might
reflect on the calf, and she wouldn’t have such
difficulty. His theory proved to be a success.
He crossed the Angus with the whitefaces. He
first did that on the home ranch. And that was
fine—where you could have corrals and the
girls would come to see the boys.

Then he decided to put the bull on the
range. This idea was not a success. The

cattle were on the range. The bull would stay
around the ranch, not on the range. When
cows wanted a bull, they’d have to come to
him. Father said the bull would make better
bologna than a bull for the range. No more
Angus bulls for the range. And that’s what
they’re doing today. When you go out and
drive over the country and you see a black
animal with a white face, it is a calf of an
Angus bull with a Hereford cow. Father
finally wound up with a cross between a
shorthorn and a whiteface. That’s the type
cattle he had when he sold out. They were
good range cattle.

Getting back to my story, when Father
came back from Iowa, he decided that he
was going into the cattle business and he
was going to make his home here. He met
and married Demelda N. Moore, who was
one of four sisters. They were born over in
California. Their father died quite young,
and their mother married again, a man by
the name of Hasland, Nels Hasland, and
there were three children there. Ben Shafer
married the oldest girl; a man by the name
of Alfred Longley married the next one; a
man by the name of Hoy the third girl; and
Father married the young one. She was born
in Petaluma, California in 1854. They had
four children: my sister, Emma; brother,
Orrin Charles, Jr.; another little girl, Annie;
and a brother, Irvin Calvin. When Irvin was
quite small, Father’s first wife died. (And an
interesting thing—every one of those sisters
died of tuberculosis.) That left Father alone,
and then his little daughter, Annie, died of
typhoid fever and left him with three children.
My mother’s twin sister went down to the
ranch to help out. My aunt had to leave to
go out to Fort Halleck where her husband
was soldiering. Mother went down to relieve
Aunt Mary, and in due time, Father married
Mother in ’84. They had five children. Only

The Ross Family of the Truckee Meadows

two of them lived, my sister and me. And we
start from there.

Something about my little mother: My
mother was a Canadian of English and Irish
parentage, and her mother and father had
a son, a daughter, the twins, and another
daughter. The father died, and times were
tough. So the mother placed the children in
an orphan’s home. She married again and
had a son, and then she died. So that left the
children in Peterboro, an orphan’s home.

Uncle Eddie, the oldest, learned the
plumbing trade, and he went over into Ohio.
The second one, a daughter, became a nun,
and Mother and Aunt Mary were brought
out here by two Irish families. Their husbands
were out here, but they were related. In other
words, the man that was out here, Patrick
Hogan, was the brother of the lady who was
married to John Shaw, who was also out
here. And the Shaws brought Mother and
the Hogans brought Aunt Mary. The twins
were a little bit older than the older children
of Hogan and Shaw. The Shaws had a station
down in Truckee canyon. It was called Toll
Station. Mother attended the Glendale School
and walked to and from the school. The Shaws
moved to Reno. The twins, when they attained
their maturity, hired out as domestics. They
lived to help the Hogans and Shaws in their
old age.

Mother and that family were born Roman
Catholic, and they were in a Roman Catholic
orphanage, but they were never adopted by
the Hogans and Shaws. And Mother, every
night of her life and every morning of her
life, thanked God for the blessings she had. So
she then married Father and we came in the
picture. And she buckled in and she helped
raise the others.

(I waited on a family today and told
them two stories about their ancestors. Mrs.
Laking was pregnant, and Mother was also

pregnant—in those days people helped out
each other. Mrs. Laking’s baby was coming, so
they sent for Mother. Mother went over and
helped deliver this girl. Just a week or so after
that, Mrs. Laking came over to help Mother
deliver me. And then that same family, on the
men’s side, I can remember Mr. Baker coming
up the road to beat the band on his way to get
a doctor. He lived a quarter of a mile below
us. His wife was going to have a baby, and he
asked Mother to go down. Mother went down.
Babies were born in the home. Mrs. Baker
had known the baby was coming and she had
the kettles and everything ready, so Mother
sterilized the sheets and all the towels. Soon
the baby came. Mother delivered him. Mother
said to Mrs. Baker—Mother was witty, sod
bless her—’’Well, So-and-So, another little
Pete.” And that boy is called Pete today— Pete
Baker of the Baker ranch down in Truckee
Meadows.)

At one time when I was quite small (the
neighbors used to help each other), there
were two cases of diphtheria—not at the same
time—one in the Van Meter family, and the
other in the Frazier family. Mother left me
in charge of my older sister (with Father’s
consent) and went over and took care of
those people. And one-half of the Van Meter
family died, and they raised a second family.
And she did’ the same thing for the Fraziers.
How, that’s the way people lived. They were
an inspiration to me.

Mother would never join a fraternal
group when she was on the ranch because
her duty—it was a home to her family. So
when they moved to Reno, Father said,
“Nellie, why don’t you do it now?” Mother still
protested. After Father passed on, we urged
her to go into the Eastern Star. She enjoyed
this association. She later joined the Golden
Age Club. You know, this club always had a
program—well, they’d have current events,

Silas E. Ross

somebody’d speak, somebodyd sing, someone
with a little history, and Mother always had to
tell a little twangy story at the end.

She lived right across from the University
and she was a friend of all the University
students. They all called her Mother Ross.
If shed see anyone going in the dining hall,
whether it was an adult or a student that was
crippled or otherwise injured, she never rested
until she could help them out. And when
she got the story, she made it her business to
be out on the porch and called to them and
asked if there was anything she could do,
or if theyd like to come over and sit on her
porch. That was the kind of person she was.
She was appreciative of everything that was
done. Tike Father, not much of an education,
but she was pretty darn smart. And the two of
them together were philosophers. And thank
God for them. No matter what I could do, I
couldn’t leave the heritage to my children that
they left to me.

Now, getting back to Father. Shortly after
he came back from Iowa and was married
and living in—oh, by the way, that building,
that home that he built, was Coffin and
Tarcombe’s store, and it’s still standing in
Glendale. The upper doors— the upper area,
as they used to call it, the upstairs—instead
of having a window in the gable, they had a
door which opened on a porch. When they’d
have high water in the Glendale area, they’d
move upstairs and use this door as an exit to
the barges. That building’s still standing, plus
the Stone and Gates building.

Father went into politics. Father was an
ardent Republican; he cast his first vote for
Tincoln. (He became an independent during
the “free silver” issue.) So he ran for county
commissioner of Washoe County in 1874.
Father won by about fifty votes. He was elected
from the Truckee Meadows as a county
commissioner on November 3, 1874 and

served until 1878. And at the same time that
he was elected from the Truckee Meadows
area, a gentleman by the name of E. Owens
was elected from the south end of the county.
And Mr. T. K. Hymers was the holdover.
(After that time, Father did not aspire to
public office because he had his family to look
after, and he also had a debt.)

During these four years (and by the way,
if you want the exact dates you can go over
the county records in Reno and get them),
the Central Pacific had refused to pay their
taxes. There were objections, and so the
county brought suit against them and also got
judgment against them for the tax as levied
by the assessor. The case was decided in favor
of the county commissioners, but the railroad
company was given a certain period of time
to file further objection.

Father had a pretty good memory; or
he might have made a note on it. But the
day or the time given for settlement, Father
came to Reno and went over to the county
treasurer to see if the railroad had paid its
taxes. He found that the taxes hadn’t been
paid. He then consulted with Mr. Hymers,
the other commissioner from this end of
the county. They were unable to contact the
commissioner from the southern end of the
county, but the two of them went over to
the sheriff and the district attorney and they
decided to collect this money and resolved
on a method of getting it. The method was
to arrest the first freight train and train crew
that stopped in Reno for orders.

How, as a side issue to this, the terminals for
freight trains were Truckee and Wadsworth.
Every train that came through Reno in either
direction had to stop and get orders from
the telegraph office. In Reno, they had one
“through” track and then there was a side
track off of this main track that was a siding
for the placing of freight cars, and such other

The Ross Family of the Truckee Meadows

things as that, near the freight station. This
was just a one-end track. They had to back in,
or chute in, and then pull it out in the same
direction.

When the train crew stopped in Reno,
the sheriff and some deputies arrested the
engineer, fireman, and front brakeman.
And the district attorney and some other
officers arrested the conductor and the rear
brakeman of the train, and the engine was
chained to the track, as well as the caboose.
The commissioners instructed the conductor
to notify his company at their headquarters
in Sacramento of what had been done; the
train was going to be held until such time
as they received their taxes. The conductor
telegraphed the officials in Sacramento, and
the officials asked for a little time and said that
they would telegraph back. In due time, they
did telegraph back and directed the conductor
to ask the county commissioners to release the
train and the crew, that they were putting a
check in the mail to cover the total amount
of taxes.

The commissioners were not satisfied with
this and directed the conductor to wire back
and to say, “No check, gold,” and to reiterate
that the train would be held until such time
as they received this money. The proper
officials came up with an engine, a car, and a
caboose, and paid the county commissioner:
this money. They were given a receipt for this
amount that they paid.

You’ll find no record of this in the county
clerk’s office. You’ll just have the information
about the suit being brought, the judgment
being rendered, and the time given to the
railroad company to provide some sort of
an answer. It has nothing to say about what
happened to get the money. Many years ago,
Mr. [Robert] Trego, who was a reporter and
a freelance writer working for the Journal-,
wrote up this story, and he entitled it,

“When Washoe County Entered the Railroad
Business.”

Another instance came up wherein the
county commissioners were faced with a
genuine problem, and that happened in
connection with the causeway from the foot
of Jumbo Grade across Washoe Lake to the
lumbering camp of Ophir on the west side of
the lake. The causeway entered Washoe Lake
almost on a direct line from Ophir. That’s on
the east side. Then it came across the lower
end of Washoe and the upper end of Little
Washoe and landed in the meadows below
what was Ophir. They had to have right-of-
way both ways. They freighted through there
with their ore from Virginia City to these
mills on the west side of the lake. Then they
came back and picked up timber, wood, logs at
Ophir and hauled them back to Virginia City
by ox team, later mules and horses.

In the early days of mining, they had to
haul ore to the mills. They had to have water
to operate these mills, and the closest place
that they could get for that was on the west
side of Washoe Valley, meaning that they had
to haul the ore down Jumbo Grade and came
by way of Washoe City to the mills situated in
the area of Bowers Mansion.

Any of you who have, until recently, made
the trip to Carson would have observed that
a large house, or building, was in the field
near the turn where you start to go west
towards Bowers. That was the living quarters
of the superintendent of the mills and also
the office, one of the mills being located a
little to the west near the creek that came out
of the Sierras. Another one was located still
further south and somewhat in the area of
Bowers. There has been disagreement as to
the exact location of that second mill, but the
information given to me by my father and
corroborated by statements of the old-timers,
such as the Twaddles, the Sauers, the Lewers,

Silas E. Ross

the Heidenreichs, and the Winters, located a
second mill east of Bowers, and maybe a little
bit east and a little bit north. The old stones
laid there for many years at the location of
another.

Well, now, when the V and T was
being built from Carson to Virginia City,
it developed the possibility of erecting the
mills on the Carson River in the Brunswick
Canyon area and to haul the ore by train from
the mines to these mills, which would mean
that as soon as the mills were completed, or
ready to receive the ore, that the causeway
wouldn’t need to be used by them any more.
And during the time of the construction
of the railroad, the mining companies did
not maintain the cause any more than just
enough to carry things over it, or team over
it, without it breaking down.

The result of that was that they abandoned
the mills in Washoe Valley. The causeway
was there, and the mining companies that
owned it tried to sell it to Washoe County as a
thoroughfare and a bridge, which would make
it possible for the people in Washoe Valley to
cross directly over that and go up to Jumbo
Grade to Virginia City, rather than to go away
over—go around by Carson, or go around by
Washoe City and up.

The people in the valley wanted it, and
their request, plus the offer of sale, plus
the amount of money that they wanted
for the causeway, was submitted to the
county commissioners. There were only two
commissioners present when this question
was submitted, and that was Mr. Hymers
and my father. After discussing it, the county
commissioners refused to purchase it, my
father giving the reason that it was pretty well
antiquated and broken down, and giving the
further reason that there was no necessity
for it. And he further objected to having the
entire county bonded to pay for this bridge

when it would accommodate only a few
people.

Later, another meeting was held on the
same subject, when the county commissioner
from (I think that was Mr. Owens) the
south end of the county was present. The
matter was opened up again and the result
of that meeting was that two of the county
commissioners voted for it. Mr. Hymers
changed his vote, and he and Mr. Owens
voted for it. My father objected and said that
he would file a dissenting opinion on it, and in
this opinion he would make the points that he
had made before— that it was in a poor state
of repair, that it would cost a lot of money
to rehabilitate it, that he felt that they would
not use it because they could drive by way of
Carson or they could come into Reno, or if
they wanted to go to Virginia City another
way they could go to Washoe City and go up
the Jumbo Grade. But he did say this: “As long
as you fellows want it, I’ll go along with you,
providing, in this offer, or in this plan, you will
bond the property and people that are being
benefited by it, which means those people
that are in Washoe Valley, and not bond the
entire county.”

That was accepted by them. So they
bonded those properties that were benefited
by it. I rather think, from the descriptions
given to me by Mr. Hymers and Father, that
that included the area from and including
Washoe City clear down to Mill Station on the
southern end. And that Mill Station, for your
information, was a siding where they loaded
lumber from Mr. Ross Lewers’ trill. I do not
know—if they told me, I don’t remember—the
amount of the bond. But maybe the records
will show it. But anyhow, they did pay for it.
And they didn’t use it. So it just disappeared.

I neglected to say that the teamsters that
hauled the ore from Virginia City down to
these mills, after getting rid of the ore, would

The Ross Family of the Truckee Meadows

come back to Ophir where they’d pick up
timber and haul it back to Virginia City for
timbering, and also lumber for the building
construction and so on—all of those little
things.

I mentioned Mill Station and the Lewers
family a moment ago. before I continue
with Father, I will interject a little about that
situation. Mr. Ross Lewers had a lumber
sawmill up around the Susanville area. He
disposed of that and came down and took
up a lot of land in the southwest area of
Washoe Valley and built a mill close to the
Virginia and Truckee Railroad. It was called
Mill Siding. And there was quite a little
community situated back in the hill. It had a
grocery store, and such things as that, and a
public school called the Mill Station school.
There is a remnant of it left. I don’t know that
I could take you to it, but I could describe in
a general way the location. If you recall that
road as you go northwest from where the old
road used to be, there are a lot of trees on the
right-hand side and farm layouts, and this way
a little bit, there is an area that is rather open.
That would be south and a little bit east. And
that was the location of the little townsite and
where this school was.

Robert Lewers, who was vice president
of the University, attended that school, as
did his brother, Albert, and two sisters. His
younger brother, Charles Lewers, attended
school in Reno, and from there he went to
Stanford and studied law and became quite
an eminent attorney here and in California.
Robert studied on the side. (As long as we’re
on the subject, Sardis Summerfield, Lester’s
father, who was an attorney we had here,
taught in that school when he first came out
from Indiana.)

Now Robert Lewers was a pretty good
student, and he took up business methods,
office work, and such things as that, and after,

taught two years at Mill Station beginning
in 1882, and thence to the Dayton schools
where he taught for four years. And then the
position was offered him as registrar at the
University in 1890. He was also the head of the
commercial department and remained there
until 1906. They added additional subjects
for him to teach, among them being political
science, elementary and commercial law, as
well as all of the commercial branches. He was
appointed by the Regents as vice president of
the University in 1906 and served as acting
president in 1912, ’14, and ’17.

In the early days of the settlement of this
area, everyone who took up a piece of land
would plant an orchard of such fruit as would
grow here, such as apples, peaches, pears,
cherries, plums, and then also currants and
gooseberries of several types, raspberries,
blackberries. And their apple orchards would
always have trees that would yield apples
the year long in these different seasons. And
the womenfolk, of course, did all their own
canning. The result of it was that in this area,
if you start at Susanville and go right straight
south to about Walley’s Hot Springs, all those
ranches had good orchards. And Father told me
that in those early days they used to ship fruit to
California. But they began to develop the fruit
in California, as California could raise it much
more cheaply than they could here and ship it
down. So many of them were abandoned.

Among the early pioneers to experiment
with different types of fruit trees and different
kinds of trees was Ross Lewers. Another one
that experimented with it was a gentleman
by the name of Ervin Crane, who had the
property at Steamboat Springs, which is
the home that is situated right after you
cross Steamboat Creek after turning off of
(Highway] 395. He’s the one that proved to the
people of this area that they could plant trees
in the sagebrush land and make a success.

Silas E. Ross

He planted a lot of trees and he would give
them to the people. Ross Lewers did a lot
of planting and he gave the Mountain View
cemetery all of the trees that they first planted
in the cemetery [during] 1898-1905. They’re
not evergreens but they were different types
of trees; some of them are still out there.

Well, after closing the mill, Bobby Lewers
told me that his father went over and built this
home, raised the family there, and he had fruit
for sale in due time, and also, he had grazing
land, raised hay and grain.

I want to say this to you. You can put it
in here if you want to. My father came here,
to Truckee Meadows, in 1859 and settled
definitely in the valley in 1863. He had been
practically all over the area. And in 1914, the
first time that I took a trip around the state, he
asked me to observe certain things. And that
I did. And that is this: that no matter where
you’d see a farm, even though it was off the
road, if you’d go up to it, you’d find fruit trees
and others planted, regular oases. It bore out
what he said about this area here.

Now, Father, in addition to that, tried
alfalfa for the first time on clay soil, and Peleg
Brown, who afterwards was my older sister’s
father-in-law, tried it on sandy loam ground
out near Steamboat. And they were the first
ones to grow alfalfa in this area.

My father brought in the first maple trees
from Iowa into Truckee Meadows. He got
some slips, and he also got some of the little
seeds. These were planted around the living
area of his ranch.

He drilled the first bored well. The wells
in those days were open wells. They excavated
a shaft to water, riprapped the shaft and
used a block and tackle to raise the water in
buckets to the surface. Father had Professor
N. E. Wilson of the University of Nevada
analyze the water to determine its usefulness
as drinking water.

He brought in the first standard bred
stallion as a sire for his mares. They had to
raise their horses for use on the farm and the
road. The type of horses that people used in
those days on the farms were not the heavy
animals because they couldn’t get out on the
road. The farmer had to have his horses to go
to market, to go out and haul in posts, and for
like purposes. And at one time, he used to
enter a stock exhibit for trotters—that is, the
single and double team. He did not go into
thoroughbreds because he felt they were too
light for general use, and, of course, he would
make a little money out of these extra colts. At
one time, they were stealing horses and selling
them on foreign markets. When Father heard
that they had been in the Red Rock area, he
took the train in Reno and rode to Truckee.
He went out to the stock pens and found some
of his horses with the Circle-R on them.

Eventually, range horses were so plentiful
that they were ruining the cattle range,
something had to be done. When my brother,
Irvin, returned from the Spanish-American
War in 1898, he and another fellow entered
into a contract with the stockmen of the Red
Rock area to kill wild horses. The agreement
was that they could shoot anything that
wasn’t bobtailed or was a mule. There were
a few mules on the range at that time. They
killed, between the two of them, better than
a thousand head of horses that winter. They
averaged five dollars and something per hide,
mane, and tail.

Brother Irvin wanted to buy an interest
in the Red Rock property, but he made a
mistake. The Corbett and Fitzsimmons right
was in Carson City, and he thought that he
could double his money. “Well,” Father said
to him, “son, I think you’re makin’ a mistake,
but it’s your money.”

Irvin bought a one-way ticket to Carson
City and placed all his money on Corbett.

The Ross Family of the Truckee Meadows

Fitzsimmons won. My brother was broke.
He happened to think of some of Mothers
friends who lived in Carson City and went to
see them. They gave him a meal and a ticket
home. He then went to work on the railroad,
and he lost his life there.

My brother, Charlie, stayed with that
Red Rock property. Father sold his property
in Truckee Meadows in 1917 and moved
to Reno. He was seventy-eight then. He
purchased the deLaguna and Bardenwerper
home on North Virginia. He was so hearty
and strong that every Saturday he used to
come to town and transact his business, and
when I was going to school, I always had
lunch with him. And when he came to Reno,
we continued our Saturday lunches together.

This day, he was down shopping and he
was taken short. He was taken short, and he
started for the mortuary. I heard somebody
fumbling at the door. It was Father, and he
was dragging a foot—had a stroke. He lasted
three weeks. He left us at that particular time,
and he left quite a heritage.

My father was a fraternal man from the
beginning. He said he received his inspiration
this way: their wagon train was threatened
with attacks several times by Indians, and
then also by the Mormons when they got into
Mormon territory. But whenever there was
a threat, the head of the wagon train would
get the wagons around and stock inside and
women inside and they were prepared to
defend themselves. But this one man would
walk out ahead of the train with a white flag
and wave it, and when the Indians would see
this flag, the chief came out to talk with the
wagon master. They communicated in a sign
language, and they were never molested. In
one case, the wagon master told them where
they were going, and the Indian chief said,
“We will send guides with you. There’s a
dangerous tribe up ahead.”

And that same thing happened with the
Mormons. Father was curious, and he asked
this wagon master about it. “Well,” he said,
“I understand the sign language, and that’s
what they use.”

Sign language didn’t mean too much to
Father, but by the time that he arrived in
California, he found out what sign language
was. His man was a Mason, and he could talk
to the Indians in the symbols, and they could
talk back to him in like manner. And Father
said he didn’t know how true this was, but it
was reported that no wagon train master, after
the first few years, that was a Mason, ever had
any trouble with Indians. I really don’t know
whether that’s true or not, but Father wanted
to know what Masonry was. His father-in-
law was a Mason, so Father became a Mason
almost immediately when the Reno Lodge No.
13 was started. And it did him a lot of good.
In fact, all of his posterity to three generations
became Masons.

In the early days in this valley, as well as
in other places in the state, money came only
once a year. In the meantime, they had to
barter. In other words, the farmer would trade
butter and eggs, chickens, and other farm
products with the merchants in town, and
in turn would get such supplies as he needed
from the merchant. And there’d be a clothing
merchant, or there’d be like—Sunderlands
were boot and shoe people, and we supplied
them with butter and eggs, and chicken
sometimes, and other products. The Nathans
had clothing, and we supplied them. A man
by the name of Leeter had heavy farm shoes
and boots and overalls; we supplied them and
others, even an attorney’s family, with these
things during the year, and we’d keep books
on it. And at the same time, why, we would get
the clothing and get the boots and shoes, and
get all of these things. Well, another was Wells,
of S. O. Wells; we used to get farm machinery

Silas E. Ross

from them. Then, at the end of the year, each
would present his bill. Then they would pay
the difference, whatever it might be. There was
no question about it at all, because, you see,
the farmer only got money once a year, unless
he had these little things, like a little dairy, a
few chickens, to keep him going. That’s why
I talked my father into going into the sheep
business and to raise mules on a small scale.
I could see where he’d make money faster.

He finally gave me five mares if I ever got
a jack. He said, “Son, I just don’t like it.” He
said, “I can’t desecrate the beauty of a lovely
mare by breeding her to a dirty old jackass
like that.” But he let me go ahead, and I raised
mules. Father could get more from mules than
he could from any horses.

The mule experience proved to be a
success. I then asked him why we couldn’t
get some sheep. And he said, “I’m a cattle
man, son.”

I said, “I know you are, and I know that
you’ve had your morals, but you can get
money three times a year from sheep. Let
me go out and get some bummer lambs and
try it.”

And he finally said yes. But I had to take
care of ’em and I had to see that they didn’t
stamp out the pasture. He would give me the
pasture after the cattle and horses were off it
for a certain amount of grazing, but never let
them graze it off or “stink it up.” And by virtue
of that little herd, we would have Christmas
lambs. And we would have the wool, then
other lambs. And those Christmas lambs were
well worth it. Sometimes the ewes would have
their lambs twice a year. And it was a nice
little extra piece of money. This proved to be
successful.

I learned a lot about merchandising from
his handling of the cattle, and what to do with
the steers—sell ’em off the range or bring them
in and sell pasture and hay, or bring them

off the range and feed them on pasture and
then butcher them or sell them, or feed them
pasture and hay, depending upon the price of
cattle in the market at that particular time. He
was quite observant. He watched the market,
and he was careful.

In those days, the farm people, just as
they do today, would get together every so
often and they would meet at Douchy Hall,
as it was called, in Glendale, and they would
plan a little party. They’d get somebody with
cornet and a violin and a piano, and they’d
dance the square dances, and such things
as that, up to a certain time, and then they’d
spread their supper. They’d dance a little bit
later and then go home. And then us younger
folk they’d bed up downstairs, or they’d put us
to sleep in the spring wagon because we were
older, you know. And square dancing, boy, I
just loved to see that! These farmers and these
women would dress up. I can remember the
hooped skirt, the bustle, and things like that.
They were charming. As a matter of tact, I
went to parties at Douchy’s Hall and went to
political meetings there. But they had their
get-togethers regularly. And then, of course,
there were always the school affairs that they’d
go to. So much for that.

I didn’t tell you what we did on our farm
and what they must have done on every farm
in the state. The first thing that the farmer did
was to fence his land. The next thing he did
was to dig a well and get a little hole. Then
he cleared some land. He would get it under
irrigation and seed it.

And then he planted an orchard; I have
told of some of those experiments. If you go
over this day and look back at all the old areas,
you’ll see orchards. In this particular area,
they had a spring apple, summer apple, fall
apple, and winter apple—four different types
of apples. They had pears, peaches, cherries;
and then in the berries they had two kinds of

The Ross Family of the Truckee Meadows

gooseberries. The currants—they had black
and red currants.

When fall came, they would trim the
orchard, but they would save every limb and
chop it up, would move it over in piles for the
smokehouse. Instead of using the hardwoods
that you get in the Midwest or the far East,
they used this apple wood or fruit tree wood.
They smoked the ham and bacon, and it gives
it a good taste. In addition to that, they had a
certain kind of grapes.

The farm lady, some of them, never
canned any of the summer apples, which
theyd use as they went along for cooking and
for eating. But when she got to the fall, shed
always set aside a certain number of those,
and set aside the winter apples, and shed use
some of them to can. The others would go into
pits, like in the potato pits—you’ve seen those?
And they were very careful not to bruise them,
and they used those. The canning was used,
of course, for that kind of fruit, and then the
others, as they needed it, they would use it
for cooking or to eat. They did the same thing
with the pears, plums, and the cherries, and
the peaches. Those were all canned by fall.
They didn’t attempt to put any of those in pits.

I can remember that those pits were built
very carefully. They would excavate down in
the ground maybe eight to ten inches. And
then they would put in a tee in there, a box,
they’re ventilators, maybe six inches wide,
covered on the top, and then it would extend
clear out to the end. And the center of it would
have a pipe in it. It was nothing, more or less,
than a four-sided affair. They used that, you
see, for ventilation and air circulation. When
the snow and rain or freeze would come on,
they’d close the ventilator up. They would
put straw down as a bed in the pit. Then they
would put a little straw throughout all of the
fruit or vegetables as they would pile up, the
same as you would potatoes or carrots or

anything like that, and then a good bed of
straw over the top and then cover it with earth
deep enough so that it wouldn’t freeze. And
then they would use this ventilation. That’s
what they did with their fruit.

They canned the black and red currants
and different kinds of gooseberries and made
it into sauce—some jelly, jam. And that was
what they had for winter use, plus their bacon
and their eggs, their jerky. Then, of course,
they had other meat for the winter. Most of the
farmers would hang their beef. Then they’d
corn quite a bit of it, and the rest of it, they’d
put in cellars where it’s dark and cool.

As far as vegetables are concerned, the
potato was the substantial vegetable that they
took care of. And as a matter of fact, they
used to sell potatoes by the sack on the barter
system, also the carrots. Not the parsnip.
They’d leave the parsnip in the ground and
dig them as they needed them. They were very
careful to dig the parsnip all up in the spring.

My father told me that in the early days,
that this area, from Susanville down to the
lower end, just beyond Genoa, supplied
the fruit for California. Fruit was quite an
industry. Each farmer knew how to trim his
trees. If you travel over this state in particular,
you will oftentimes find an orchard. I went
down to the Presbyterian Church the other
day at a service, and I saw a couple trees
growing in front of the building. I said they
looked like apples, but what happened to
them? Apparently, when they went in there
to build, these two trees were there. Upon
reflection, I said, “Well, this was the old home,
the old farm home, and those fruit trees were
left.” The church has nursed those trees along;
the old trunk is as dead as all outdoors, but
new growth started from the bottom and is
healing over this trunk, and had apples on it.

When I say bartered, even the soldiers
bartered. When my Uncle Jim soldiered in

Silas E. Ross

Fort Halleck, Nevada, the soldiers received
government checks, and they would accept
elks’ teeth as change. The larger the tooth, the
more it was worth.

In those days, they’d get plenty of men that’d
work for the winter for board and room. And
nearly all of the farmers did keep one or two
men. During the day and during the winter, all
the harnesses had to be mended and oiled and
all the machinery put in shape, honed down on
the inside. They had their own blacksmith shop
and their own punches, and everything like that.
The collars had to be shaped up—everything.
And then, the last thing they did was to go over
to the bench. If anyone would see a nail, no
matter how crooked it was, or a screw, they’d
pick it up and bring it in and throw it into a
box on the bench. They straightened nails. That
shows you the thrift of the time.

There’s another story that I almost forgot
to mention. I was pretty young at the time.
Certain Masons came down to the ranch
and asked Father if he would attend a lodge
meeting that night. It was divided, and they
wanted to hear those people who were older
in life and more experienced. Finally, he said,
“Gentlemen, I appreciate that, but I just can’t
go.” He said, “I have my work to do here, and
I have my chores to do in the evening, and
by the time I get that done and get my bath
and get my supper, why, the meeting would
be over.”

My older brothers said, “Now, Father, we’ll
take charge of the chores. We’ll take care of
everything. You go.”

And I was a little fellow and I said, “Yes,
Father, I’ll shine your boots.” He would never
leave the farm for Reno without his boots
were shined.

Father attended the meeting. At breakfast
the next morning, I asked him what he did,
and he said he couldn’t tell me. I asked him all
about it again, and I said, “Who can you tell?”

He said, “Son, we had a meeting of the
Masons. We had a common problem. And we
got together and discussed that problem, and
the only ones that we can talk to about it are
each other under the same conditions.” That’s
when they decided to build that Masonic
building on its present site, and that was
around 1901 or ’02.

Why am I interested in Glendale school?
Well, to get back to the early history, there
was a man by the name of Sessions in the
Area, teaching the children in his home. The
children would attend when convenience
permitted.

In 1864, there were enough children in the
Glendale district to obtain an appropriation
from the state to help toward the establishing
of a school. The people interested—by that, I
mean the people that had children of school
age, together with friends of the schools,
decided to erect a school building at Glendale.

Henry Whistler gave permission to build
the school on the northwest corner of his
ranch. (Henry Whistler died June 27, 1902,
and his wife died September 11, 1909. Both
are buried in the Knights of Pythias plot in
Reno. His two children, Luella and Elmer,
attended the school.) Mr. C. H. Eastman
agreed to furnish all the lumber that they
needed at absolute cost. The merchants
supplied nails, hardware, and such other
necessities to build it. The group hired a
carpenter to superintend the building of it,
and then the farmers in the area that were
interested helped to put it together. My father
hauled the first load of lumber for that from
the Eastman mill by ox team.

It’s interesting to note that even after
Reno was started, many students from Reno
attended the school. If you could look into
the history of those people that attended the
school, you’d find some of the most successful
men we’ve ever had in Washoe County.

The Ross Family of the Truckee Meadows

Classes from the first through the eighth
grade were taught in the school. My mother
attended that school. She walked from Vista
to the school. My older brother and sister
attended it. After my older brother and sister
entered the school, Father moved across the
valley, and my next brother attended the
North Truckee school and the prep school
at the University of Nevada. My sister, Vera,
and I attended the Glendale school. Two of
my nieces were teachers at the school at a
later date.

I had the chance to live at a time when
I knew nearly all of the pupils that attended
the school at Glendale. I knew even the first
teacher, outside of Mr. Sessions, and her name
was Miss Anna Henry. When we organized
the Glendale School Association to try to
preserve the school, we agreed that the oldest
teacher that we could find in the area would
preside. She sat up there like a schoolteacher
and conducted the meeting. Wed sit at the
desks. When the meeting concluded, the
members recalled a lot of old times. Really, I
still feel that that school building and grounds
should be preserved. That’s my interest now.
I’ve known most of the teachers.

During the last few years that Mrs.
Josephine Frugoli was the teacher at Glendale,
she invited me to come down at Their exercises
in the spring. When a pupil would graduate,
I was invited to give the address. You know,
I became inspired because those that were
graduating, most of them, were children that
were misfits in the Reno and the Sparks area;
they hadn’t adjusted themselves, you see? And
the result was that they felt friendless; they
didn’t apply themselves. School officials sent
them to Mrs. Frugoli, and today they are good
citizens. Many of them entered high school,
and all made excellent records in both Sparks
and Reno high schools. I always Thought it
was a marvelous record.

I said during the time that I attended the
Glendale school, my sister and I attending the
same sessions, we only had one teacher, and
that was Miss Kate Kinney, a graduate of the
University of Nevada, who was afterwards
Mrs. Roy Robinson. When we left to go to
the Reno schools, she taught one more year.

I remember that Miss Kinney had to go
to Reno because she had a toothache. She
had an appointment with Dr. Fred Rulison.
If the teacher had to leave, she always turned
the school over to the oldest pupil in the
school. On this particular occasion, the pupil
in charge was her own sister. And pupils will
cut up, and I guess they had Mae a little bit
upset. You know, in those days, if you wanted
to leave the room, you’d raise your hand and
request permission to leave. And I guess she
was a little bit irritated [laughing], so I raised
my hand and said, “May I go—?”

She said, “What do you want?”

I said, “May I go out?”

She asked, “What for?”

I slid right down in my seat. And all at
once she began to laugh and then said, “Git
out” [laughing].

Of course, kids played “Auntie-Over”
and touch-ball and all of those games. Then
they’d read in the paper what they were
doing elsewhere, and we wanted a bar—a
crossbar. The teacher inveigled some of the
older fellows to put one up between the
trees. (Those trees have been destroyed.) We
would get up on the bar and try to swing. I
was swinging one day, and for some reason
or other, I swung out this way and missed the
bar with one hand. I went down and just fell
flat, flat on my belly, and knocked all the wind
out of me, I thought I was killed.

We did have a lot of fun. In those days,
too, we would organize little athletic clubs and
compete with the other schools and clubs. For
example, we had the Hayseeds bicycle team

Silas E. Ross

and the Hayseeds baseball team, skating team,
and horseback teams. The one place we could
always lick ’em all was the riding. And it was
a lot of fun. We learned gracious competition
and good sportsmanship.

The experiences of that country school
I shall never forget. I don’t know where that
I ever had better companionship than I did
there. We were all farm kids; we all had to do
chores; we all wore a certain kind of clothing;
there was none of this fuddy-duddy frills. And
I think we had mutual respect for each other
because of teamwork in competition. But as
you go into the larger areas, you see divisions
of people and the gangs form, and like social
groups, they get into competition for material,
personal gain, and they say and do things that
they wouldn’t say any other time.

Do I remember the names of some of my
fellow students and! or anything about them?
Oh, yes. Oh, let’s see. I think in terms of the
Races. Warren Rice was there. He went in the
Spanish-American War the same time that my
brother, Irvin, did, and he’s the only one of the
Rice family that’s alive now. He’s farming, or
was farming, up in Oregon.

There’s Chris Kiley, who came from the
south side of the river. He’s now dead. He
left farming and went over into California
and married somebody on the other side
that was in the lumber business. And he had
three sisters: Belle, Nellie, and Maidie Kiley.
Belle married Warren Rice, and she’s dead.
Nellie’s dead. And Maidie’s married and lives
somewhere in California, the last I heard of
her. And then they had a brother, a young one,
Bobby, and he’s dead. A boy by the name of
Frost, Joe Frost, who lived on the south side
of the river there—older than I.

Now, then, the nephews of Warren Rice
attended school there. There’s Riley and
Alvin. And then there’s Elizabeth Wills, Mae
Kinney, and Bertha and George Curnow. May

and Madge Little, and John Devine. And all
the other Devines are dead. Henry Jones,
locomotive engineer, now dead. Hannah
and Chris Nelson, Hattie and Leilah White
and Buzz White, Mattie Madden—she’s
the mother of this famous paleontologist
whose name is Heizer. Her grandparents
Steinberger bought out the Eastman mill.
The students came all the way from almost
to Gould ranch (the old creamery here on
Mill Street) clear down to Vista. The Steeles
and their family went to Glendale with the
Frosts, the Hermans—the Kileys, the Joneses,
the Derbys. Veronica Dickie—her mother
attended the Glendale school before her.
Whistlers, Luella and Elmer, two of them—
Lottie Crocker. Now, these are the people that
I knew of Glendale School. But the people
that did go there before, I can give you a lot
of those, if you want them.

There’s James Steele and his three sisters.
There’s Charlie Jones and Emma Jones. A
fellow by the name of Derby (he afterwards
came to the University), John Kleppe, a chap
by the name of Powell—two Powells, the
older Devine, Emma, Mattie, and Lawrence
Hasland, Charlie Gulling (who afterward
lived in Reno), and George Larcombe, Tommy
Thomas, Vera Hash, the older Rasmussen
boys, fellow by the name of Bagley, another
one by the name of Sessions, Sellers, Dennis
O’Sullivan, Ben Bryan, the Johnson girls, but
I don’t remember their name.

A lot of the people came to Reno, and they
made good in their different fields. Larcombe
had a grocery store and then moved to Reno.
His boy, George Larcombe, was the first child
born in Glendale. He attended the Glendale
School, moved to Reno, and entered the
grocery business with a friend, the Coffin and
Larcombe Market; they were a group. A man
by the name of Frazer ran a butcher shop,
and his son finally went on to the University

The Ross Family of the Truckee Meadows

and graduated as a mining engineer. Oh, let
me think now. The Shafer’s—let’s see, there’s
Bill, Lottie, and George—all went to school
there. George Peckham, Sr. went to school
at Glendale. That’s when his mother was
running the boardinghouse at Eastman’s mill.
Let me think for just a moment. Lyles—they
were the people that had a farm over beyond
Hidden Valley in that area. Then there was
another family in there—maybe I can think
of it—Banta. Miss Banta, the youngest one,
died a few years ago. She was a teacher. Oh,
yes, there’s another one, Walter Ulyatt; his
name was really Asher, but he was an orphan,
and his grandmother took him and changed
his name to Ulyatt.

Now, we were very mischievous, but I
can’t say that we were any different than any of
the country schools. The teacher had several
grades to teach, and she set up her program.
She budgeted her time, you see. And she
would have us read, she made us recite, and
she’d have writing and things like that we
had to do; and the older people, depending
upon the number she had, she’d have them
recite, maybe, while we were supposed to
study. And when we were reciting, she’d have
them working at the board. And I want to tell
you, it wasn’t an easy thing to take pupils all
the way from beginners through the eighth
grade—maybe one or two in a class.

The thing that bothered me the most in
all that time, and even when I was in high
school—they had no library. Now, apparently,
my folks had a pretty fair library, but when
the farm buildings burned down in ’79,
everything was destroyed. When I came along
at a later date, my reading was confined to the
Youth’s Companion and the weekly paper. Of
course, when I’d go to get my hair cut I’d look
at the barber’s magazines, and such things
as that. We did have a dictionary, we had no
encyclopedia, we had the World Almanac.

Another book that was common was the old
book on illnesses—I don’t know, what’d we
used to call it, the homeopathic? Is that it?
And we used to read that a lot. And finally,
Father subscribed to some sort of a magazine,
a farm magazine. And we had that. Now,
when I started to high school, we had no
public library. We had just a small high school
library. But they wouldn’t let us take the books
out. And I had to leave and get home. So I
did say this, that if I ever had children of my
own, I was going to have a library. And we did.
We started the children out with the Book of
Knowledge right off the reel. And we helped
them with it. And then we started them with
the simpler encyclopedias. Oh, we had a
dictionary. And, oh, I don’t know how many
different sets of encyclopedias we had. And
one set of books that I purchased, too, was the
Messages and the Papers of the Presidents.
I don’t know of anybody having them in
Reno outside of ourselves. We had all those
references, and we had Bancroft’s Works; we
had a lot of good literature for them. But the
reference work is what I thought we ought
to have. Mrs. Ross was a great reader, and
she would get books that the children could
appreciate. I don’t know— they told me that
we turned over pretty near 1,500 volumes to
the University. It’s like leaving my own past.
But we did have others, and I do know this:
that in those early days, there was a lot of those
University girls, some of them’d come over
and sit and use our library and tell others who
would come over and use our books.

My son, Silas, Jr., when he was in junior
high school, was required to write about the
Lincoln Monument. Mrs. Ross was out, and
I came home, changed my clothes. We were
going out to dinner. My son was doing his
best to find something about the Lincoln
Memorial Monument. I said, “Son, it’s
certainly in the encyclopedias.”

Silas E. Ross

And he said, “I can’t find it anywhere,”

I sat down on the floor to go through
encyclopedias, and I couldn’t find it there,
either. I said, “Well, son, we’ll tell you what
we know about it, having visited there.”

Then I recalled that I had read something
about the Memorial in the Messages and
Papers of the Presidents. The information that
my son sought was found in these books.
He traced the history of the Memorial from
the time it was first suggested. You know,
there was a delay in the construction. The
reasons were outlined in the Messages and
Papers of the Presidents. These papers gave the
explanation of the symbolism of the Memorial
and other details. His mother and I had visited
the Memorial and we related our experience
to him. He wrote his paper and handed it in
at the required time.

Miss Georgia McNair, a classmate of
mine, was his teacher, and she asked, “Where’d
you get that?”

He said, “Our library.”

So we’ve always had a good library. Most
of the library was given to the University upon
the death of Mrs. Ross.

At the Glendale school, it was customary
to always have a Christmas party, and then
also, at the end of the term, to have the term
party, wherein the children demonstrated
their progress to their parents and to their
friends, made up of dialogues, declamations,
piano solos, and singing in unison. And after
this was over, they used to give the teacher a
present and wish her well. And after that, we
would have something to eat and then drive
to our respective homes.

Then again, in the spring, the teacher
used to always have a picnic, the doggonedest
picnic. And then, we thought it was quite a
jaunt. And it was, those days. She would hire
a bus from Reno, and we would leave the
Glendale school at a certain time and drive

from Reno to Lawton Springs, where she and
some of the mothers (the mothers would go
on ahead, I want you to know), they’d have
picnic lunches and such things as that, and
we’d swim and play games and swing and then
drive back that night. At night, you know,
that was a great distance for us kids in the
country, and it took some little time to drive
that distance.

Here’s an interesting item. As far back as
I can remember, in talking with people in the
Glendale School, every one of them could
ride a horse. And most of the pupils either
used a horse and cart to come to school if
there were more than one or two, or they rode
horseback and took care of their horses as it
was necessary, and tied them to posts. Looked
like a bunch of cowboys leaving, I suppose,
going in all directions.

Well, one of the amusing things that we
had when I was a youngster—I was invited
over to the Rice’s to stay all night. And we
decided to go out and steal watermelons.
Why we did it, I don’t know. I had all the
watermelons that [I wanted] at home. The
Rices lived near the state asylum. The asylum
had a lovely melon patch near the road. We
boys got together. These other boys knew all
about the melon patch. When I came over, we
decided we were going to get the melons, and
it was decided that Alvin Rice and I were to
go way up, almost to the turn, as you go up
the Glendale Road, then right to the asylum,
where we could get into the ditch. The ditch
was dry. And we were to belly down the ditch
to near the melon patch. We were then to
crawl out and get some melons. We’d work
them over towards the fence where the other
kids could get them.

We thought we were getting along pretty
well, and we finally got out in the patch—
[laughing] and this amuses me— first time
I ever outran Alvin Rice in my life. Bang!

The Ross Family of the Truckee Meadows

Bang! We both were off the mark with the gun
report. Well, he hit the fence. I saw the fence
and hurdled over it. I went over on the run.
He hit the fence and it knocked him down. But
then, even though it was dark, you could see
the dust of the other two fellows going down
the road. We never stole any more melons.
Now, imagine, doing a thing like that! But
we got all the experience we wanted. It was
a kid prank.

I don’t recall us doing any nasty, dirty
little things, though. Maybe it’s because of the
influence of the teacher. We had a lot of—well,
I did get in wrong with a teacher when— they
talked in this hog Latin, and we would stop
at this lady’s house each day, and she and the
teacher would talk with each other and go on
to something that I wasn’t supposed to hear.
They’d talk in this hog Latin, “Dig-a-dig-
do-do.” So this night, they’re talking about
somebody’s going to have a baby and I heard
it, and I didn’t know. I went home and told
Mother about it. “How’d you find that out?”

“They’ve been talkin’ about it.”

And Mother happened to be talking to
the teacher the next day, and she said, “I
understand that Mrs. So-and-So’s goin’ to
have a baby.”

Miss Kinney said, “How’d you find that
out?”

And she said, “Silas told me.”

Miss Kinney says, “Why, that dirty
little devil! Didn’t think he understood that
language.”

What did we do to celebrate Halloween?
Well, I’ll have to tell you a story. There was
a farmer on the north side of the valley and
he used to come to town on Saturday, and
he’d get intoxicated. And he was then mean
and nasty. And then he’d sometimes get
drunk, and he was very abusive to the young
people and he would make a lot of noise. He
would drive his horse and use his favorite

buggy. Sometimes he’d abuse the horse. So
the older boys knew that they’d get a good
cussing if they’d do something to embarrass
him. My older brothers and, oh, about six or
eight others of the same age decided to do
something about it. Now, mind you, we lived
way down here. It must’ve been four or five
miles over to Pete Kelly’s farm. So the boys
waited until very late. They knew he had a
dog, so one of the Gaults made friends with
the dog so each of the others could sneak in.
And they took the wheels off of that buggy and
they fixed up a block and tackle and hoisted
it, then, to the top of the barn. They then took
the shafts off and hoisted the buggy up and
put it on the peak of the barn, and then they
put the wheels on, and the shaft, and put the
harness up there. Well, I—I don’t know—all
I know is he was— they said you could hear
him swearing all over the valley. And he had
a dickens of a time getting the buggy from the
roof of the barn.

We did live so far apart, you know, that
you couldn’t get together very often. The
neighbors would put on a Halloween party
and they would meet in a certain place
and come in costumes and things like that.
But living that far apart, if you’re gonna do
Halloweening, you’ve got to do it in a group
to enjoy it. We just didn’t do too much.

Did we have any special Christmas
celebrations in which the people joined? No,
the only place that I know of that they got
together would be the Christmas party at the
school. Because each family had their own
party. The families intermarried, you see?
Now, in our particular case, the Rosses lived
in north Truckee Meadows, and the Browns
lived near Steamboat. One family would take
Christmas, the others’d take Thanksgiving.
Well, it would mean—oh, it was awfully
hard to get up in the morning and have to
do your chores and then get the kids ready

Silas E. Ross

and drive this eleven, twelve miles and eat
dinner, as near noon as you could—used to
be sometimes after, and then they had to leave
and go back this distance and take care of the
chores, and the one that was host would have
a lot of work to do. Put my, we enjoyed the
gathering together so much!

Now, my little mother did do this, though.
When I was in college, if there was ever a stray
boy or stray girl, she’d have them, insisted that
we bring them to the ranch for the holidays.
I think it was rather a custom for us people
that attended the University in the early days
to take someone home with him from out of
town.

Would I like to describe the old town of
Glendale? Well, now, you see, there wasn’t
much in Glendale when I was small, but I can
tell you what was there, starting at the Stone
and Gates Crossing. In coming north, that
area, clear up to the intersection of Kleppe
Lane, was business—a couple hotels and a
butcher shop, the grocery store, hardware,
saloons, and then when you got up to that
intersection, the business turned and went
on the other side of the street, of Kleppe
Lane, to about the Glendale school. And
then the other areas were residences. On the
east side, coming from that base, there were
residences in there, a few. And then on the
other side, as you go up there, business was
on the north side, and the residences were in
there. And I remember the old blacksmith
shop. I remember some of the old hotels,
and I remember the grocery store. Oh, yes,
there used to be a livery stable in there, too.
In my time, [there were] no oxen, but in the
early days, they used to have trading posts
where they would buy oxen and sell them, the
stronger ones, there. But they had the livery,
and the sports’d come down from Virginia
City, and they’d want to drive places, or ride
places, and they would [hire animals].

Now, there were more farmhouses
around then than now. Stone and Gates
built their residence there, also the Crockers
a headquarters for the Crockers family,
afterwards the Littles. And then just below
that was the Powells, and then below that was
the old gentleman, Mr. Kleppe, and then the
Haslands across the way, the Sessions, the
Douglases, Ramellis, Rices, Sessions again,
Mary Wall, Bagleys. Those were all the little
ranches in that area, and as you go on the
other side of the track, you would run into the
Thomas, Blaisdel, Thomas, Curnow, Robinson,
Frickes, Johnny Hamms, the Shafers—that’s
along that road north from Glendale. And then
going further down, you run into the Curnows
that I mentioned, the Sessions, the William
Perks, Kinneys, the Rosses, and after that, the
Clarks, the Wills family, the Blanchards. And
then the Johnsons (the two Johnson families
not even related), the Van Meters, the Dixons,
and the Vances, and the Bryants, the Shields,
the Fraziers, the Gullings, the Sullivans, the
Gaults, Conroy, Kelly, Morrill, Shafer, Leete,
[laughing] Winfrey, Snodgrass, Gould, Max—
well, I can’t think of his name; I used to call
him Columbo, but I can’t think of his name to
save my soul. Then we move right on down—
that’s your farming area.

Were there a lot of foreigners in there,
immigrants? Well, now, those people came to
us out of the woods in Verdi. Early, of course,
we had Danes come in, some Swedes, but
they came in not too heavily to begin with.
For instance, Henry Anderson brought most
of the Danes in there, and the Frandsens, I
think, brought most of the Swedes in here,
and they built up with their families from
the old country. But the Johnsons and the
French people all came to Verdi because of
the lumbering industry in that area.

This one Johnson ranch that I’m thinking
about, two of the boys worked in the timber,

The Ross Family of the Truckee Meadows

and they came down and bought this ground
somewhere in the area of Father’s place—
that’s on North Truckee Lane. And they
fenced a part of it and put a part of it under
cultivation and built a little cabin and started
that way and began to expand and develop
their water rights, too. One of the brothers
died of typhoid fever and broke the other
one up so that he couldn’t go ahead with
the prospect. He sold out to Blanchard and
Blanchard’s partner. And these two people
had an agreement that one would pay for the
land if the other one would build a two-story
house enough for two families. And Blanchard
paid for the land; this other fellow started on
the two-story house. But the understanding
was that if either failed in his agreement, he
was out and it belonged to the other man. So
that’s where those Johnsons— their property
went to Blanchard and afterwards it came to
Theodore Clark.

Later, some of those people moved out.
For instance, the Kinneys are all dead, and
that has gone into the hands of Humphrey
Supply and Nichols. Our place has gone into
the hands of the Italians. The Clark place is
burned down; it’s the Baker’s now. I don’t
know who owns the Becker property. The
Powell property, way over on the other side,
is in the hands of one of the Sanfords now.
I don’t know who owns the Dixon. The Van
Meter has been subdivided; the Shields, I don’t
know. The Fraziers, all of those are in second
and third hands. I think the Joneses and the
Kleppes—maybe one other—are the only
ones that still own and operate their ranches.
If you want to go three generations away, the
Short ranch would be one. It was originally
Banta, and then Short (Short married into the
Banta family, you see), and then young Short,
a third generation, is running it now. Peckham
is all subdivided; Steele is all subdivided. The
Matley ranch belonged to one of the Steele

brothers. I told you the story, didn’t I, about
one of the Steeles marrying a girl under age,
and he brought her out here as a bride? And
one of ’em moved out? Well, that Steele sold
his interest, sold part of it to Eastman for the
mill. Eastman sold to Dougherty. Dougherty
sold to Steinberger. He in turn sold to the
Matleys. Matley sold to the airport. How,
then, the George Alt property, it was sold to
Flick. Flick sold a piece of the property to the
Roman Catholics. It’s up where the Manogue
School was first established. The University
owns the rest of the ranch now.

And the Savage ranch was sold to
Mapes. These holdings are now a part of the
University farm. Yoris purchased the Derby
property; that’s now owned by the University.
The Joneses are still there. And across the
river is the Kleppe ranch, now operated by a
third generation of the family. The Thomas
property was sold to the Southern Pacific
when the railroad moved from Wadsworth.
The Frickes, Curnow, Robinson, Hamm,
Shields, Kelly, Sullivan, Gault, Shafer, and
adjacent properties have been laid out in
subdivisions of Reno and Sparks.

As I said, we did form the Glendale
Students Association many years ago in
an effort to preserve the Glendale school
building. Out of that grew the group that put
on the first Admission Day celebration here
in Reno. Frank Savage and Pat McCarran, Si
Ross, and a few others organized this group.
It finally grew into what is called the Native
Sons and Daughters; they still meet. And we
continued our interest, but though we know
the school has been abandoned, we formed
the Glendale School Corporation, and we
lease the school building and ground for a
dollar a year from the school board. We lease
it out to the 4-H and such groups as a regular
meeting place. We were hopeful of creating a
park there; it was in the state Park System at

Silas E. Ross

the end of the Charlie Russell administration,
but it was thrown out by Governor Sawyer. At
the present time, the Sertoma Club of Sparks
has taken it over as a project.

The building is the same today as it was
in the beginning, with this exception: the
main entrance was in the center, where the
belfry is, and there was no rear entrance.
On one side of that entrance was a place
for the boys to put their coats and hats. The
other side was used for the girls’ wraps. The
outhouses were one on one corner and one
on the other corner of the school yard. You
tied your horses to the fence in the yard. The
entrance has been changed, expanded, and a
little built onto it. As far as I know, the bell is
still in the belfry. They have put in a pump so
that they can have water. They have lights. I
don’t know just what they call this group, but
it is one of the religious groups; it’s small. They
needed a place to meet and they maintained
the building for a time until the head of the
denomination died. We understand that Tom
Miller is still working on a project to have the
school and ground be made a part of the state
park system.

I have a picture somewhere of one of the
first meetings that we had. We used to meet
annually, and they called it the Glendale
School Association. The oldest teacher that
we could get hold of was the chairman. She
sat up at the teacher’s desk, and the rest of us
sat around in chairs, or rather, desks. I have a
picture of the group of founders. I don’t know
whether I have the year on it or not.

Well, I say, I can remember the hooped
skirts and bustles in the early days of Glendale
and the old-fashioned square dancing, as well
as the waltz and the polka. I knew how to two-
step and the schottische. They would hire a
violinist and a piano player and the cornetist.
I can remember the first one I went to. The
piano player was Cora Sauer and the cornetist

was Bill Ferguson. And Roy Robinson played
the violin. He made it squeak to beat the
band. Then the square dancers, they’d have
their callers. And mind you, no booze. Now,
there was a bar downtown, but when they
went to this thing, there was no drinking of
any kind. That was taboo. If they wanted to
come in Saturday and get drunk and things
like that, that’s all right, but when they were
going to have this party, they outlawed liquor.
They had milk for the kids, and coffee or tea
for the adults, cake and sandwiches. I think
that’s one of the things I liked best about the
gathering. Also, as we were growing up—
not when we were little fellows, but when
we’re maybe twelve or thirteen, fourteen,
something like that—they provided for us,
too. We were permitted to dance and we could
dance with ’em.

I remember my senior year at the
University, and I hadn’t danced with my
mother in a long time, but she and Father were
up to the dance, and I asked the lady I took
if she would mind if I’d ask Mother to dance,
and she said, “I think that’d be lovely.” And
she said, “Will your father dance?”

And I said, “You ask him. I doubt it.” So
Father wouldn’t, but Mother went down to
dance.

I started to dance with Mother, and she
soon said, “Look, son. If you’re going to dance,
let’s dance.” And boy, how she did step around
there! And they did dance. And honest, there’s
speed to it! But they have certain steps in the
reverse and to avoid getting dizzy. Mother
enjoyed the dance, bless her.

I said that I would tell about the building
of the Reno bridges. I knew something about
some of them. To begin with, this was Lake’s
Crossing. At first a barge plied back and
forth across the river and Lake. Then they
built an old wooden bridge. I have a picture
of this bridge. There are several pictures,

The Ross Family of the Truckee Meadows

artists’ drawings of it—Harold Herz has one
of them. If I remember correctly, they did
build a little better wooden unit to replace
the first bridge. Later this bridge was replaced
by a steel bridge. It was pretty high above the
water, and you had to go up or down as you
[crossed]. Where the Masonic Temple is, and
the Napes, there were just holes in the ground
then. That new bridge was made of a lot of
metal assembled together. Excess vibration
would ruin it. The commissioners put up a
sign on the bridge, “So much fine if driving
faster than a walk on the bridge.” That is the
bridge upon which the vigilantes hanged a
man who shot the constable. It remained
there until they built our present bridge. The
old bridge was moved down to Rock Street.
It was lost in one of these floods. They never
have been able to find hide nor hair of it.

The cattle bridge, which is almost a block
west of what is now the underpass of Wells
Avenue, and the electric light bridge were
the other bridges crossing the river in Reno.
These were wooden bridges. Other bridges
outside of Reno were Mayberry’s bridge, west
of Reno, Glendale bridge at Glendale, and
Lagomarsino bridge, across the river east of
Vista at the mouth of Lagomarsino Canyon.
Another crossed the river at Wadsworth. All
these were wooden bridges with the exception
of this metal one. They used to ford the river
in many places. I was told that Stone and Gates
and the Lake people did charge a toll to go
over their bridge.

I mentioned a hanging off of the old
steel bridge. Well, we had a constable here by
the name of Richard Nash. He was a stately
individual with a beard, a kindly person, and
he was attempting to arrest some fellow that
did not obey the law, and this fellow shot him
and he was quite critically wounded.

I told you about when they cut him down
that the editor of the paper took the knot

home? No? He went home to lunch and had
this knot. He was gonna have a souvenir and
his wife asked him what it was, and he said,
“Why, that’s the knot that was under the ear
of this fellow that we hanged this morning.”
And he went in to get cleaned up. [Laughing]
While he was getting cleaned up, his wife just
opened the stove lid and put it in the fire. He
was pretty angry when he came out.

In the early days we had what was known
&s the “601.” According to my father, you
never asked a man his pedigree. When
he came in, you met him, you introduced
yourself, you obtained his name and said, “Are
you going to be with us long?”

He’d say, “Yes, I’ve come to stay,” and so
forth.

And, “Fine, we’re all pioneers. If there’s
anything I can do to help you, we’ll be glad
to do it.” They accepted a man that way. But
if he turned out to be a scoundrel and he
wasn’t doing the right thing, they didn’t want
him here. Of course, they didn’t have the
police protection as they have now, so they
would proceed to tar and feather him. Just
threw them out of town. In many cases, they
just called the 601. The 601 was similar to
the vigilantes, and they operated all through
the West here, the western part of the state.
The common thing was to ship the so-called
impostor out to Truckee, put ’em on a train
or make ’em hike. I don’t think that there was
any great amount of violence except in that
one hanging here, but we do know of recorded
records in the mining camps, as you know.
And there again, we have some vigilantes,
but there was the same 601 directing these
things. Horse or cattle thieves, if they’d catch
them, didn’t come back again after they were
disciplined. Didn’t do any good to try to arrest
’em; it cost too much to prosecute them. But
when they had the goods on them, they’d tar
and feather ’em and get ’em out, cattle rustlers

Silas E. Ross

and—. I can remember when people were
disgraced to be in jail. But if you were in jail,
you worked. I can remember when people
didn’t want to go to the county hospital, and
they had to be pretty feeble to stay there.
They probably thought it was a disgrace. They
would work—no salary, but they’d get a job on
a ranch, or some place like that, doing chores
to earn their way. It’s a little different now.

I guess I told you that when I was a lad that
the railroad, the old Central Pacific, instead of
going where it is now [in Reno], ran directly
down Fourth Street clear down the foothills,
and then turned and went south ’til it got into
Truckee Canyon. Father said that the original
survey is where the railroad is now, but when
construction crews arrived at western Reno
(Truckee Meadows), the valley was flooded.
Since they were getting a subsidy, so much
per mile, it didn’t make much difference, and
they just went around the valley. The tracks
were laid down Prater Way, and you know
where Prater Way goes into Stanford Way
down there. Well, we used to cut across the
railroad crossing there to go to Glendale or go
on down to our ranch. I think the tracks were
moved around 1903, ‘04, or ‘05, when they
moved Wadsworth to Sparks. They purchased
a good portion of the Thomas property and
some of the Robinson property, some of the
Fricke property for the new right-of-way
beginning at the Dickie and Jones Hill. That
is the area where B Street comes into Prater
Way. That used to be a hill, and they called it
Dickie and Jones Hill. They had the right-of-
way straight on through, but when they cut
down through Sparks, they had to buy the
right-of-way through those properties I just
told you about.

I want to talk a little about the ditches
and water rights. It is said that the earliest
water right on the Truckee River was the
ditch that had its source back of the Steele

ranch and near the Eastman mill. The water
was diverted from a dam there into this ditch,
and it supplied all of the irrigation water for
all of the land, beginning at the Steele ranch
and running east on the south side of the
Truckee River to Vista (that would include
the Matley property). The Steele, the Frost,
the Alt, the Savage, the Jones, and Derby
farms diverted the water from the ditch for
irrigation purposes.

The water for Glendale and the ranches
north of the river was diverted through
the Truckee irrigation ditch from a point
somewhere near or back of the Columbo
ranch, which was adjacent to the Nevada
insane asylum. And it took care of the
irrigation of the land from that area down
through the Sessions property, the Rice
property, the Stevens property, the Wills and
Tregellis, Stevens, the Crocker property, the
Powells, the Hasland property, Kleppe, and the
old property that was right at the mouth of the
canyon at Vista. A branch of this ditch supplied
water for the North Truckee area north of the
present railroad right-of-way. It also provided
water for irrigation for the Curnow property,
the Kinney property, the Ross, the A. I. Clarke,
the Blanchard property, the Bryant property,
the Vance property, and the Ulyatt property.
That would mean all of the area on the road
from what is now called Stanford Way in
Sparks through the Blaisdel property and on,
clear down to the east foothills.

The main ditch forked off right after—
you cross it on North Truckee Lane about a
mile or a mile and a quarter north of what
is the extension of Prater Way now. Then
that branch that went to the north took
care of the property in the area— how am
I going to describe that?—north and east,
beginning, abutting the property of the
Johnson homestead over towards the lower
end of the Van Meter property.

The Ross Family of the Truckee Meadows

Another ditch called the Orr Ditch was
diverted from a darn in the Truckee River
somewhere near Verdi and carries along
the foothills, and it extended to just north
of the Van Meter property until they built
an extension which carried it on over into
Spanish Springs. The water from that irrigated
those farms along the north foothills of
Truckee Meadows.

Another ditch obtained water from a
dam located south of Wingfield Park along
Island Avenue at about the intersection of
Island Avenue and Rainbow Street in Reno.
It meandered Tregellis, Stevens, the Crocker
property, the Powells, the Hasland property,
Kleppe, and the old property that was right
at the mouth of the canyon at Vista. A
branch of this ditch supplied water for the
North Truckee area north of the present
railroad right-of-way. It also provided water
for irrigation for the Curnow property, the
Kinney property, the Ross, the A. 1. Clarke,
the Blanchard property, the Bryant property,
the Vance property, and the Ulyatt property.
That would mean all of the area on the road
from what is now called Stanford Way in
Sparks through the Blaisdel property and on,
clear down to the east foothills.

an extension which carried it on over into
Spanish Springs. The water from that irrigated
those farms along the north foothills of
Truckee Meadows.

Another ditch obtained water from a
dam located south of Wingfield Park along
Island Avenue at about the intersection of
Island Avenue and Rainbow Street in Reno. It
meandered through Reno and took care of the
agricultural land, the farms that were close to
the south side of the river contiguous to Reno.

Another ditch took its water from a
dam west and north of the river and west
of the Arlington bridge. Part of the water
was diverted to irrigate the asylum property.
The other part took care of a portion of the
English Mill property and a portion of the
Leete property.

There’s another water right that took
care of the property to the south of Reno. It
was diverted in the area of Idlewild Park and
travels east and south. That would be along
Virginia Street, from there out over towards
Boyntons.

Well, now, with all of these irrigation
ditches, it was necessary to provide for the
drainage area. So the Union Drain Ditch
Company was formed. It (the drain ditch)
entered the river on the west of the Dan
O’Connor property Cit was the Devine when I
knew it). It went straight north from the river
to a line which was parallel to the present
SP track, these westerly about one mile. It
then turned to the north about a quarter of
a mile, and turned to the west a little over a
quarter of a mile, then north a quarter of a
mile until it hit that old intersection of the
county highway, which is an intersection
of Prater Way and North Truckee Road.
That was the main artery, and the abutting
properties drained into this ditch over their
own property. That was called the Union
Drain Ditch Company, and all of the people

Silas E. Ross

that used it to take care of their drain water
were stockholders in it. They had assessments
for maintenance based upon the acreage of
land that they were using.

I think I did say something about the moss
that would get into the ditches. Well, they used
to clean these ditches every spring. That was a
chore. All of the sand bars and the like of that
were tossed out of the ditch so that it would
carry the water. During the summer, moss
would grow with the result that the irrigation
ditches couldn’t carry the head that they were
supposed to carry to provide the water for the
irrigators. The drain ditch would get filled,
also, so that it wouldn’t completely drain off
the excess water. It was necessary, at least once
in the summertime, to mow this moss and
throw it out on the bank so that the channel
would be large enough to carry the drain
water on the one hand and the irrigation on
the other. This was done with a scythe, and in
mowing these ditches, particularly the drain
ditch, you mowed in water that would come
up pretty close to your shoulders at the lower
end. And when you got at the upper end, of
course, you would even reach from the bank
and take care of the moss. A lot of people
couldn’t physically stand up to the pressure of
mowing the ditch; they’d get rheumatism and
it would bother them. There was a gentleman
by the name of Ulyatt, George Ulyatt, that
lived close to the foothills on the east end of
the valley, between what is now the railroad
track and the extension of Prater Way. He was
able to do it, and the ditch company paid him
so much per day. He had to furnish his own
scythe and blades. But the ditch company
would also hire a man to throw out the moss
as it drifted down. Ulyatt arrived at the time
when he was getting troubled and didn’t want
to mow any more, and I, as a young fellow
who’d had experience mowing ditch banks on
the farm, agreed to undertake it. Of course, I

was a minor, but Father could collect so much
per day for this work, and I had the privilege
for about three seasons to mow those ditches,
the drain ditch’ from what’s now called Kleppe
Lane—across it, every inch of it, clear up to
the experiment station, which was at the top
end of it, and the irrigation ditch all the way
from the “Y” on the North Truckee Lane clear
through to the asylum dam.

Now, as a side issue, my father was
superintendent of those ditches, each of
these ditches, for a number of years. But
the records were burned; some of the early
day records were destroyed, so that when
they had subdivided some of the farms for
Sparks, it was difficult to give a clear title of
the water the farm was entitled to. And, of
course, the subdivider wanted that water so
that he could use it in the areas where he was
selling acreage. For some reason or other,
Father, having been connected with it so long,
would testify concerning the water rights of
each farm, and they would take his word for
it. And I became quite familiar with it because
I worked with Father on it, and I was familiar
with the testimony that he gave.

Some of those ditches have been
abandoned now. The old Union Drain Ditch is
still in existence; the North Truckee Irrigation
Ditch is, the Orr Ditch, I think they call it
the Cochran Ditch that takes out right over
here by the Riverside Hotel is one of the early
ditches, the Steamboat Ditch. Of course, the
ditch that was the number one takes out back
of the Matley place. All of those irrigation
ditches are still in existence as far as I know,
with the exception of the English Mill and
Asylum Ditch that used to come through
Reno.

The North Truckee was the one that Father
was intensely and particularly interested in
because irrigation water for his land was
coming through it. Its source was from the

The Ross Family of the Truckee Meadows

dam at the asylum. It’s the one that winds
all through Sparks and has caused so much
trouble. You see, people bought property
there, and that ditch was on their property, but
it was there by easement and for a particular
purpose, and, of course, the ditch people
would be criticized. The ditch company was
not supposed to fence it because they were
there before the property was subdivided. I
don’t think that there are many Sparks people
using that ditch water any more. The channel
of the ditch carries the water for the farmers
east of the North Truckee Lane.

Father was one of the organizers of that
North Truckee and one of the original owners
in the Union Drain. He was a director of both.
Well, those people that had to operate it had
to pay assessments, you see, and they were
permitted to work them out if they’d do it
within a year. Now, if you had an extra man
in the ditch digging time, you’d send him up
there, and you were allowed so much per
day towards that man’s work. In other words,
you’d pay the man this amount of money, and
it would be credited to your assessment; or
you’d pay the difference, you know.

I mowed both of those for about three
years. And you don’t know what I found.
Sometimes I’d be up to the water—to here
[to my chest]. And we’re always have to have
somebody to catch the drifting moss and
throw it out in a pile on the ditch bank. You’d
pick out what we’d call a field, and you’d start
mowing, and you had to mow against the
grain if the stream was running this way, don’t
you see. You wouldn’t cut it this way; you’d cut
it along the base, which would mean that you’d
be working against yourself, but it would go
on down and you’d throw the moss out to dry.
You’d be up to here, sometimes. But we never
could mow beyond what is called the Kleppe
Lane; it was too deep and muddy. But you
wouldn’t be in that very long. The lower end

of the drain ditch was much deeper and much
larger than the upper end. Your irrigation
ditch would feather out a little bit towards the
end—I mean, about the same time.

We had an experience one time, and it
was after Sparks was started. A family built
a house right over the drain ditch. They sued
the drain ditch company for a large sum
because of the unsanitary conditions the
ditch caused, and this and that and the other
thing. Mr. Sardis Summerfield had the case
for the drain ditch company, and there was a
jury trial. I happened to be mowing the ditch
this one day, and I came up to the east end
of the house and I had to get under it. So I
got under it, and by Jove, I found where the
family flushed the toilet, the dishwater, and
whatnot into the drain ditch beneath this
house. So I got out of the ditch, and with the
fellow who was throwing out the moss, went
up quite a distance ahead. He bypassed this
spot. We didn’t touch it. I told Father about
it that night and showed him what I’d found,
and I said, “I just left it alone. Maybe if the
jury would look at it, you wouldn’t have to
argue your case.”

Father advised the attorney, Mr.
Summerfield, who moved that the jury go
down to the site of the point at issue and that
the ditch company and the plaintiffs share
the expenses. In the meantime, Father had
called me to get Mr. Peterson to bring some
planks to the site and divert the water from
above into another ditch so the jury could get
under the house. The jury crawled under the
house and observed the condition. The jury
returned to the courtroom, and upon motion
of Mr. Summerfield, the case was dismissed.

Water has caused more trouble, more
enmity, than anything that I know of in this
area—the quarrels over water. And I think
if they knew as much then as they know
now about irrigation, they’d never have any

Silas E. Ross

quarreling. But there are farmers and people
with their lawns who still don’t know how to
irrigate their lands. They would use all the
water they could get. They’d steal. And they’d
shut the other fellow off.

I always tried to remember the great
philosophies that the pioneers had. They
are as good today as they were before. I can
remember the first time that I was invited to
attend a party in Reno. I attended, and Mother
instructed me. She said, “Remember, son,
don’t be seated until the hostess sits down.
And if other ladies are standing, waiting for
her, let her sit down, then the other ladies,
then you sit down. Keep your elbows off the
table. Watch your host in the use of the silver
and other manners.” I did that. But I noticed
the hostess in a little while doing this [ putting
her elbows on the table].

So Mother asked me about the party, and
I said, “I did observe in due time that the
hostess put her elbows on the table.”

And she said to me, “Anybody else have
their elbows on the table?”

And I said, “Yes.”

“Well,” she said, “she was a perfect hostess.
She did that because she didn’t want the others
to be embarrassed. But,” she said, “Did you
put yours on afterwards?”

I said, “No, Mother.” That taught me
something I’ve never forgotten. That hostess
still lives.

Now, the next party I came to, my folks
had told me ten to ten-thirty was late enough
to remain anyplace. And when it came around
ten-thirty, I went over to the hostess and told
her, “Good evening. Thank you for the party.”
And I went over to the mother of the hostess
to thank her.

And she said, “Well, Silas, you’re not
going home now. We haven’t served the
refreshments. It’ll be quite a while.” And she
was very positive.

And finally, I said, “Well, I’m sorry. But
Mother told me this is late enough to stay, and
I respect her opinion, and I have six miles to
ride on my bicycle.” And I left.

As I have reflected on that particular
incident and see the situation as it is today,
I’m wondering if it doesn’t prove to me and
could prove to others that my little mother
“was right.” Maybe if they would observe
these old amenities today, they wouldn’t have
so much time for some of the discourteous
things they do do.

Now, my dad was very much interested
in education; my mother was, too. And they
offered the older children the opportunity
to go to college, such as it was, and my older
brother and older sister were in the first
[University of Nevada] student body in ’87.
But sister Emma got married and brother
Charlie got the education he wanted and went
back to the ranch. My brother Irvin was in
the prep school and he remained in the prep
school until the Spanish-American War. I
then came along and with my sister Vera
attended the Glendale School and thence to
Reno High and the University.

However, I knew it was tough for the
folks to finance my education. I wanted
an education. I can remember Father and
Mother telling me one time, saying, “Now,
look.. A man is old enough to understand
these things. We want to talk to you about
the facts of life. We want you to know, first,
that you’re here through the grace of God
and the desire of your parents. You owe
your God everything. You owe your parents
respect. They owe you an education within
their ability. But we also want you to know
that you’re in a world of competition, much
more difficult than we had. It you want to
compete, you must have an education. And
if you want to compete and be a leader, you
need the knowledge of the Bible.” And then

The Ross Family of the Truckee Meadows

he wound up by saying this: “I hope you will
be a leader if you care to.”

My little mother said to me, “Be alert,
observant, and prepared to mount the ladder
on strong rounds. Be sure of what you do and
that you hold onto it. Don’t be discouraged
if you don’t get to the top, because you’ll get
so near the top that you will get recognition.

Then Father went a little bit further and
said, “I want to tell you something, too, about
this temper you have.” He said, “Count ten
when you get mad, before you say anything.
Be careful in the use of your language.” He
said, “Never call a man a liar or an s. b.,
because in this country that means fight. But
if you say to the man, ‘I think you’re a liar,’ or
‘I think you’re an s. b.,’ he has a right to his
opinion, and you have a right to your opinion.
There’s room for discussion.”

And then, also, he told me that I had a
right to ask questions, and [laughing] that
was a bad thing, because I’ve been asking
questions ever since. He said, “Before you ask
a question, be sure that you know what you
want to ask and form it so a man of authority
can understand it. You ask him that question,
and if he is an authority and his answer is not
clear, you can ask him again. If it’s still not
clear, reframe your question and ask him a
third time. And then if it isn’t clear, you have
a right to your opinion, but doubt not his
right to his opinion.” And he finally wound
up and said, “Son, you’re coming to the time
when you want to go out with girls. There’s a
matter of sex, and the only thing I’m going to
say to you is this: when you take out a little
girl, you treat her as you would your sister or
your mother and be kind to her.” I’ve never
forgotten it.

My Association with the
University of Nevada

Beginnings of the University of
Nevada: The Elko Period, Presidents
Brown and Jones

I’ve always said that every president
and acting president that we’ve had at the
University of Nevada since its removal from
Elko to Reno had laid a splendid foundation
for his successor to build on. I might as well
go even further than that and cover the early
history of the University when it was in Elko.
As we read it, the people that were in charge
had done marvelous work for the reason that
they had students who didn’t even have a good
eighth-grade education and built from there
into practically high school subjects, and there
were no changes during that time, due at first
to the resignation of Mr. D. R. Sessions, who
was in charge, to become state superintendent
of schools. His successors were well-educated
men taken from business and professions and
gave of their time to try to carry on.

This first division was 1874 to 1885, and
that’s when the school was in Elko. I make
this statement, that I believe the best resume

of the history of the University at Elko, called
the transition and beginning, is that contained
in Chapters One, Two, Three and Four of
Doten’s History of the University of Nevada,
and make the further note that an excellent
digest has been made by this young fellow,
Larry Oxborrow [a term paper]

When we speak of the history of the
University of Nevada, it is necessary for a
few moments to consider those things that
happened before the University became an
entity, making it possible for us to have the
University, and by virtue of certain grants
from the federal government. If we go into
this carefully, we will find that Senator Justin
S. Morrill of Vermont, who was interested in
the education of the youth and particularly
in agricultural and mechanic arts, after a
thorough study of the situation throughout
the United States of America and based upon
the experience of the few land grant colleges
that had been started by a few individuals,
was able to get through the Congress a bill
in 1862. It was signed by President Lincoln,
in spite of the fact that he was busy with the

Silas E. Ross

Civil War and all this strife. He conceived the
idea of deeding to the state a certain amount
of land which could be sold by a land grant
college, and the sum invested and the interest
therefrom could be used in the manner of
helping to sustain the land grant college. It
is interesting to note that, in order to be just
with all the states, this grant of public lands
was measured in terms of so many acres per
congressman and senator that was in the state.
As I remember, it was around thirty thousand
acres of public lands for each of these people.
The funds from the sale of this ground had
to be held in perpetuity, and the interest
therefrom is used to support the college. In
1866, a further grant of seventy-two entire
sections for the support of the University was
sponsored by Mr. Morrill and passed through
Congress.

In March, 1887, Mr. [William Henry]
Hatch realized that something had to be done
to give the states a little cash to operate the
research in the manner of land grant colleges.
The cash is to be used for the operation of the
agricultural experiment stations. This would
help, of course, but it had to be later amended
by Mr. Morrill in the Congress to increase—
or rather, add to his proposition a certain
amount of money to be sent to us.

The result of that was this: that when
the framers of our constitution were talking
about a university, and particularly a school
of mines, they were in a position to accept this
land grant, providing they could carry out the
intent of the law. And I use the word “intent”
very advisedly and will illustrate an example
of it. When the University was founded, it
was certain of a certain number of acres of
land throughout the state, and it was also
certain that a certain amount of money was
to be used to pay for research and teaching,
with the result that the responsibility of the
taxpayers of our state was an appropriation

to build buildings and get started and try to
educate the youth.

At the time that the University was founded
in Elko, it was practically a preparatory
school. They had to pick the young people
up from the grammar schools and such small
high schools as we had and ground them in
subjects that would make it possible for them
to go ahead in their particular field and do
research. It’s interesting to note that in the
school that we had in Elko, one of the first
things that Mr. Sessions did was to set up a
preparatory school. And then, in addition to
that, he had a man in mining that would teach
these people assaying and a little mineralogy
and other subjects related thereto. It’s also
interesting to note that it was all right for a
while, and then the bottom dropped out of it.

In passing, it is said that when the
University was located at Elko, they thought
it well to divide up the state institutions in the
different areas of the state and didn’t think of
the proximity for material to work with. So
when it moved to Reno, there was a problem.
When they voted to move the University
to Reno, there was a financial problem that
had to be solved. Bills were introduced in
the legislature to make this possible. One of
the bills very definitely gave Washoe County
permission and direction to pass a bond issue
which would pay Elko for the investment
that they had out there, and also leave a little
money towards the building, or purchase of
ground and the building of buildings. As I
recall (and I’m not so sure I got this from what
my father told me, or whether I researched it
when I was at the University, but the figure
is very definite) there was $25,100 of bond
issue. And they had to send $20,000 of that to
Elko to repay Elko for their expense, and the
other $5,000 would go towards the purchase
of land. An interesting thing, too, was (I think
it was my father who told me; either that, or I

My Association with the University of Nevada

picked it up in my own research) that in this
bond issue, Washoe County was directed to
pay that balance to the Board of Regents of
the University of Nevada. And that’s a little
fine point in there. I think I have another note
on that later.

Now, frankly, I say this: I didn’t know
Mr. D. R. Sessions, but I knew of him, and
I knew the Sessions family and a number of
them in this area, and they were all known to
Father. One of the younger brothers-in-law
and sisters knew him. Ivan Smith was the
daughter of one of them; she attended the
University. I don’t think she ever graduated,
but she, for a number of years, was secretary
to the president up there before she married
A. M. Smith, who graduated in 1901. She was
the mother of Dale and Thor Smith.

Now, I think, in my oral history of the
Glendale school, I called attention to the fact
that the first person to think in terms of the
school was a man by the name of Sessions,
who was related to this gentleman. It might’ve
been the same gentleman, but I don’t know.
The Sessions people owned all the land from
what would he the extension of Stanford Way
to the schoolhouse up to, oh, way beyond
Seventeenth Street in Sparks, and from the old
Glendale Road—that would be the extension
of East Second now, and the river. He taught
some of these kids in his own home, and when
they got this building built in ’64, he was the
first teacher, which, I think, is interesting.
It brings it right at home here—that is, his
association there—and brings it also directly
in connection with a former student of the
University. One of the Sessions was the first
teacher there.

Then the University moved to Reno, the
first land was purchased—or, rather, they
came here and they looked over several
proposed sites and finally set upon this
hill that belonged to Mr. J. N, Evans that

overlooked the city. And the Board at that
time thought it would be interesting to look to
see who these people were. The prime mover
in the thing was Senator [Noble] Getchell’s
father. That ground was purchased on July

11, 1885, and it was reported there that they
paid $125 an acre for the first ten acres, and
that the Regents bonded themselves with Mr.
Evans to buy the additional ten acres at a price
not to exceed $150 an acre within a period of
two years. Now, the legislature gave us a little
money at that particular time, and when the
Regents got through buying the land, and the
like of that, they had in the neighborhood of
$13,000.

Now, at this point, it was necessary to get
some plans and specifications, and they gave
the architects in this area an opportunity
to draw up plans and specifications for
the building with the understanding that
whoever’s plan was accepted (now, this is
without charge) would become the supervising
architect and receive his fee along that line. So
they accepted the plans drawn by M. 7. Curtis.
He was a builder here for many years; some of
his kids graduated from the University. And
he was the supervising architect. I understand
when they advertised for bids, all but one
bid $13,000. And Burke Brothers, a couple of
Irish brick masons from this area, bid in for
$12,700. The contract was let on July 21,1885.
The breaking of the ground was on August
2, 1885, and the cornerstone was laid by the
Grand Lodge of Masons. It was September

12, 1885. The doors were opened on the first
floor in March of 1886. That’s the Morrill Hall.

When the University was first started,
there was a confusion as to the law and as to
the intent of the law and between the power
of the legislature with the result that the
Regents were elected by the legislature. Now,
to begin with, the legislature elected usually
the superintendent of schools and an attorney

Silas E. Ross

and somebody like that to be Regents. Then
they were elected by the legislature, and they
functioned for a while within that plan. They
found this to be unconstitutional, with the
result that those that were elected by the
legislature were out, and they provided in
the law, temporarily until the next general
election, that the governor and the attorney
general and the superintendent of schools
[would serve]. Then the law was interpreted
that they must be elected by the people.
Dedicated men were elected, yet they were
not familiar with the aims and objects of the
University, apparently believing that they
were the administrative group. Their terms
were short, and due to the fact that they
were short, there was no continuity in an
educational program.

When Dr. Brown came to Nevada, he was
fortunate in having some people on the Board
that knew something about education. Some
of them had been former teachers and they
were in sympathy with his idea.

Now we come to Mr. TeRoy Brown. While
the building was started in 1885, it wasn’t
fairly completed until 1886. They had teachers
there, and one of them was Orvis Ring, who
was teaching in high school here, and the
other one was a mining engineer from one of
the mines up at Virginia City. But the Reno
people said that Ring couldn’t continue, and
the mining people said the engineer couldn’t
continue because they were too valuable in
what they were attempting to do. But what
they actually did—to get a president, they
looked to the East and they had heard about
Mr. Brown. He had received his doctor’s
degree and he had been teaching for a number
of years and a family was coming along, so he
quit that and went into banking. There, he got
a pretty fair background, but his academic
training was so great that they thought he
would do a good job, and he quit to come

out here. But his environment was definitely
New England, and when he came out to this
Western area

Now, in the meantime, when the Regents
hired him, the Regents hired another teacher,
Miss Hannah Clapp, and the two of them
started out. He engaged a man by the name of
[Frank] Fielding (I picked up this information
through the history of the school of mines)
to take care of the mining. Brown and Miss
Clapp did some teaching, and to establish
the prep school, they hired Orvis Ring. And
he held that position until he was elected to
be state superintendent of schools. Before
Mr. Brown’s term was over, he had increased
this to twelve people. I think I have that list a
little bit later. The faculty increased to twelve
members in 1889-1893.

Now, it was said that the first student body
was made up of about fifty people T think
that was a little bit large. Brown immediately
continued the high school and the normal
[school] project. He set up some courses
in general arts, agriculture, mechanic arts.
Oh, yes, this normal school, it’s the teachers’
school. Now, according to Doten (that was
in ’87 when he came here), there were about
150 students, and most of them came from
the Reno area.

Now, we have a period in there, oh, from
1889 to the early ’90’s, when there was a
constant increase in the high schools. The one
in Virginia City, the one in Carson, and the
one in Reno supplied a great many of these
students. But they apparently didn’t have any
high schools elsewhere in the state. Now, in
addition to organizing this setup here for the
University, Dr. Brown became quite interested
in the school system in the state, and in
working with the superintendent of public
instruction and the school trustees in the
area, they were able to build quite a number
of good grammar schools. Most of the schools

My Association with the University of Nevada

were small country schools until then. And
that continued, I think, until around 1908. I
was a three-year high school man.

I guess you’re familiar with that particular
period. And they started it. His first job was
to acquaint himself with the area, and the
records will show you that only one floor of
Morrill Hall was finished. It was called the
first building, the “main building.” They laid
off the school so that they could go ahead
and finish the thing and they could have a
complete student body and could take care
of them in that one building by... when he
[Brown] came here. My older brother and
older sister attended that place. Most of the
students came from around this area and
some from the other side. But really, That he
had was a glorified high school to begin with.

He reached out and got teachers. The man
had great understanding, vet he was a highly
nervous type and rather impetuous, from
what his son has said—I’ll quote him here in
a moment— and an idealist. If you look back
over the early history of the school out there
and in here, you’ll find that there’s a jam as
to how you should provide the Regents for
changes in the law, and each time you get a set
of Regents, each one of them thought that he
should run the institution to a certain extent.
That was tough on [the president].

The first thing Brown did after he got
squared away, he started out to select the
faculty and prepare a course of study, which I
think is remarkable. He laid it out, “This is my
objective,” and he worked up to it. To begin
with, the Regents thought that they ought
to help him select, and they would find the
people, but they made a little faux pas in one
or two, so they decided to let him do these
things, and he did the nominating.

Now, from what I’m told, in order to get
the background and get the people started,
he set up three divisions in the University.

The was the school of arts and science, the
other the school of agriculture (now, we’re
coming to that in a little bit), and the school
of mechanic arts and mining. Now, those were
his objectives. He had to have a building and
wanted to get this military in there. He had
to get a course in agriculture in order to get
the appropriation. He had to have researchers
in agriculture. So that was the way he started
the thing. Now, he left in 1889 when he had
increased this thing to six instead of four—as I
remember them, the school of liberal arts, the
school of agriculture, the school of mechanic
arts, and the school of mining. Later, he added
the business department. Then in 1889, he
started the normal school, and he left us. He’d
started those particular things.

Why did he leave so quickly? The Regents,
and the fact that they were hampering him.
He was ambitious, but maybe he wanted
to go a little bit too fast. But during his
administration, he said that they ought to
have a dormitory for the girls. And that was
started, and I think one other—well, he had
to have provisions for the military school. So
they obtained the appropriation. Stewart Hall
got started then.

I didn’t know Mr. Brown, but I knew his
son. His name is Thomas Pollock Brown. The
interesting part of it is this, that he attended
the University of Nevada and graduated from
the normal school in 1898. Then he received
a BA degree in 1899. He did other work at
California and back at George Washington
University. I gained that from him, because I
got in touch with him when I was a Regent,
trying to get these portraits of presidents. He
very graciously went ahead to do it and I had
a chance to talk to him. I don’t know if this is
correct, but this is the way I remember him
speaking of his father’s first year. He said that
the president had to manipulate funds and
such things as that to get by, and there was a

Silas E. Ross

little difficulty because of his impetuousness
to get along with the Regents, who thought
they ought to be there. “But,” he said, “my
father wrote this to a friend of his. ‘That first
year,’ my father said to me, ‘I worked for
sixteen to eighteen hours per day, and I spent
the nights in planning for the days that not
a minute might be lost in getting under way.’
Then some time after this, it seems as though
my father had difficulty. They were testing his
strength, in which he rejoiced. And so at the
close of the year, he wrote to a friend, ‘This
has been the happiest and most useful year
of my life.’”

I think that he died in California; I’m not
sure. I think that he went into the banking
business after he left here. The point that I
make in that first administration is this: he
started the building campaign—or rather,
helped on it, and he set up the divisions
which were something to shoot at, and they
were increased until we had some six instead
of four, or three, setups, and then he also
established the normal school for teaching.
That’s as much as I can tell you about this. So
that means that Morrill Hall was completed,
the Agricultural Experiment Station was
completed, the Stewart Hall was started, the
dormitory.

What did the faculty think of him? Well,
he only had a small faculty. I think he got
along beautifully with all but Miss Clapp.
She was strong, too, you see. But he got along
very well with her. I think during Jones’
administration he put her in charge of the
Library and as a preceptress to the girls.

Do I think that this personality defect of
Brown’s was the real, serious answer? Well,
I think it was a little too heavy for him, too,
but he realized that he’d done as good a job as
possible. And so by studying this thing, he felt
he might not have the strength to go ahead,
and he didn’t want to quarrel with anyone.

Did I know any of the Regents at that
time? I think I did. Oh, yes, you see, some of
the Regents were state officials, like Governor
Jewett Adams and Governor C. C. Stevenson,
and at one time the superintendent of public
construction, one time, the attorney general.
I didn’t know Governor Stevenson, but I did
meet Mr. Adams. As a matter of fact, his
widow left some money to the University,
and they didn’t know who donated it, or what.
Stevenson and Adams fought to beat the band
when they were the governors to put this
University over. Now, at that particular time,
an issue came up as to their qualifications to
serve. The legislature elected the Regents, you
see. Before Jones was through, that was found
to be wrong.

Now, we stop there for the moment and
consider the first buildings that were on the
campus. Well, of course, the first was the
main building, which is now Morrill Hall,
and it held that name, and that was in 1885.
In 1889, they constructed what they called the
science building, and it included the sciences
of botany and chemistry and mining. At that
particular time, you see, our student body was
small, and the University work was secondary
to the high school. Now, then, in 1889, they
constructed this science building; it housed
the mining school (and I think the teaching
of it only) and the scientific work of chemistry
and biological science. That would be a second
building. Yet there is a doubt on the part of
some authorities; it was supposed to be the
Nevada Agricultural Experiment Station
building. It’s reasonable to assume that they
might have given that some consideration,
because the legislature, in providing for the
University, stressed mining. Even in Elko,
they hired Mr. Jules E. Gignoux, who was
employed by the Regents during the Elko
period, to give instruction in assaying and
in engineering. This man was trained in the

My Association with the University of Nevada

school of mines in Frieberg, Saxony. He was
a Frenchman, and according to Doten, some
thirteen men received instruction there in the
school from him. I’ll look that up to be sure.
I knew that it was about a dozen. At the end
of a certain period (I think Gignoux taught
two years), there wasn’t anybody to take the
course, so he left. But many of these twelve or
thirteen went into the field. They were taught
assaying based on mineralogy and some ore
treatment, and as I say, geology, and some
basic principles of mining. Now, remember,
at that time a lot of these young people didn’t
have a high school education, and Gignoux
wasn’t able to give them too much math, but
he could give them the facts to decide, and
those were the first mining men of the school
that went into the field. And they did make
good, so that when we d-td get our school of
mines at the University in Reno, there was an
entree, and that’s the way- they got around,
[because of these first mining men who went
in the field and made good].

Another thing about that particular
period is this: Mr. Gignoux left the University
and then became one of the most prominent
mining engineers in Nevada and was the
man that later developed the Dayton area and
Silver City area.

He’d been married twice. By his first
wife, he had a couple older boys who went
into the Army, and then he had— let’s see,
one, two, three, four boys and a girl by his
second marriage, who was a Miss Loftis
from Dayton. All of those boys and the
girl attended the University at Reno. The
oldest one didn’t want to graduate. He took
mechanical engineering and went on to the
field before he graduated. The second, Ray,
was in my class; we graduated in 1909. He and
I worked together as a team all that period of
time. His first job was location engineer for
the Alaskan railroad, and from there, he went

to work for the Great Northern. Then Shell
Oil picked him up. He was a construction
engineer for them and he served all over the
country and even in Holland. He’s retired and
living in San Gabriel right now. The third boy
graduated in mechanical engineering and
some electricity, and he became identified
with the oil industry, particularly in the
machinery part of it. He made a very great
success of it, and during World War II, he was
in demand—in such demand that they just
kept him busy on the road in connection with
this kind of machinery. He came back and he
retired, and he’s living in San Gabriel, also.
Ray and Prank married sisters from Bodie
and Bridgeport. They still have the cabin up
there at one of the lakes, and they come up
during the summer months. The fourth boy
came up here and took engineering. He went
down around the Bakersfield area and worked
for a while in developing oil machinery, and
then he became the owner of a big supply
house. He’s still alive and doing well. He’s
still living in Bakersfield; he’s retired. Jigg’s
boy (Ray) came up here to school and he
had a daughter, also, but she went to school
elsewhere. She’s living up north. Jigg’s boy is
really the location engineer for one of the oil
companies. We did preliminary survey work
all over the eastern part of the state here and
found some properties that are drilling oil
now. The girl graduated and she died within a
year [after graduating). So that’s the Gignoux
family.

Now, when Dr. Brown served under these
appointive Regents, I think that during the
latter end of his administration, they changed
to election. Some men on the Board were not
really qualified in what a University should be.
But anyhow, there was a little friction between
them and Dr. Brown. They were somewhat
conservative in the matter of duty. Some of
them didn’t realize that it required money

Silas E. Ross

to operate an institution. When Dr. Brown
came out here, we were generally pioneers.
His son said, “My father was an impatient
man. He thought a thing through himself, and
if he couldn’t get results quickly, he became
very impatient.” In other words, they had
him down as not always sympathetic with
the fellows with short-sided views and men
less informed than himself. He resigned and
moved to California and made quite a success
and died down there. So you see what Brown
did. He just raised the University out of the
aggrandized high school, organizing his
faculty so that they could take care of these
people that wanted to teach. And by having
this enlarged, they could overlap, and they
could take in the prep school those subjects
which were required to go ahead, and also,
the normals.

After he resigned, there was an election of
trustees [Regents], and a new Board came in.
That same group was the one that elected Dr.
Jones. Dr. Jones was a highly educated man,
a natural-born teacher, and a man that could
judge men. He was not a good administrator
because he felt that by having qualified men,
they could get together and agree and run the
University that way.

The student body increased beyond 143
in the early ’90’s, and it was said that there
were around 265, because they were coming
in from all over the state. Between 95 and
1902, the prep registration plus the university
registration approached the 350 mark.

Some of the early timers grouped the
Brown administration as “the beginning.”
The Jones administration was called the
“conservative growth.” Jones came in at a time
when that great panic struck this country
and people were poor and money was scarce.
To go ahead, they needed money. But they
had a conservative board. During his time,
the Regents demanded of the president that

he visit every class and department at least
once a week, holding that in order to keep
in touch with all of these requirements and
his teachers, that he would have first-hand
knowledge. Jones did that religiously, He
gained a very good background of what
each was trying to do. He would bring up
something at each faculty meeting, and they
would discuss it, pro and con. And one of
the early historians, in writing about the
University, said something like this, “that it
wound up being a debating society.”

Now, when this next Board of Regents was
elected, they, too, had some ideas. I gather that
they decided that their responsibilities were
very definitely to administration. Acting upon
the recommendation of the president, they
would decide on the budget they needed and
how it was to be distributed. Mr. Jones was not
successful in persuading them otherwise, so
he decided the thing for him to do was to get
out in other fields. Dr. Jones was a man that
was broadly educated in this country and in
Europe. He’d been in touch with the larger
and stronger universities all over the area,
and he had at his fingertips policies of these
other organizations, other universities, and
the ideals for which they were standing. With
that broad knowledge, he was able to select
good men. This weakness probably was in
finance. However, after he left the University,
he went down to San Jose. He did lecturing
with the people around San Jose, and then he
decided to buy land. He became one of the
best qualified educators and real estate people
in the area and retired as a wealthy man. (His
wife was a brilliant woman, too. She was a
graduate of a Quaker college in Indiana. She
went to Carson to visit her cousin, Trenmor
Coffin. He had been a Regent. Her first school
was in Jack’s Valley. In going through some of
Mother’s effects after she died, I ran across a
copy of her contract that she signed. We sent

My Association with the University of Nevada

it on to her surviving son, Herbert Jones. He
wrote back and said, “I’ll bet Trenmor Coffin
drew that.” He sent my son a copy of the
contract. I urged him to put it in the archives
here, but whether he’s done it or not, I don’t
know. Aunt Lou, as they called her—she was
a Quaker, too—left here and went to the
Hawaiian Islands, where she studied. She
became quite famous in the matter of forestry
and trees. She met Mr. Tones and married
him. Then they went to Germany, and she
had that background, too. When they settled
down in San Jose, she became interested
in the redwoods. When she died, she was
an authority on redwoods and that line of
conservation. There was over a million people
there. She helped him, of course, in a lot of
her activities, being a Quaker and thrifty. She
probably helped him to save a dollar.)

Now, getting back to Dr. Jones, I had
never met him until after Mrs. Ross and I
were married. We spent two or three days
with them at their request, and I had an
opportunity to observe them both. Aunt
Lou was the gentle kind who answered you
if a question was asked, was interested in
current events, and very quiet. Dr. Jones was
a man that was immediately inquisitive, and
Ross—the name seemed to mean something
to him. He asked about my background, and
I remember then that he told me that he knew
my father. Then he just took me all to pieces
in what I was doing, wondered what I was
doing. I couldn’t help but think his questions
were not impertinent, but they were to the
point, and he wanted to be very sure that
Emily hadn’t made a mistake! So we find in
Jones that he built on the foundation that
was given to him, even under hard times, in
getting additional buildings, and attracting
more faculty, and attracting high-type people.
In both cases, we found interference on the
part of the Regents, but we had some changes

in the faculty, too, due to the fact that these
people were attracted elsewhere.

You find in reading the constitutional
debates, they said they wanted a University
and mining school second to none, but
the equivalent of Frieberg University. J. E.
Gignoux was their first teacher in mining and
related subjects in Elko. Now, that died out,
and early in Mr. Brown’s experience, probably
one of the first people that he hired was a
fellow by the name of Fielding. He could teach
assaying and a few other subjects in the one
building at the time.

The third building that was built is
what most people recognize as the Nevada
Agricultural Experiment Station building.
The first building, which is the science
building, was directly west of Morrill Hall on
the bend of that little lake, Manzanita Lake.
The next building, agriculture, was on the east
of Morrill Hall and on a line north of the back
end of Morrill Hall. Do I clarify that to you?
The fourth building that was built was the
Cottage, the girls’ dormitory. That is what is
now Stewart Hall. Then, the next building that
they built—well, about the time that they were
building the agricultural experiment building,
which was in 1892, they started a machine
shop on the site of what is now the mechanical
engineering building. That building was built
mostly by the students and Richard Brown.
I’ll refer to that a little later.

And in 1895--I’m going to cover this
right now—the University reported to the
legislature that they needed dormitories and
they needed land. You see, the original ten
acres, which start at the lower end of the
campus (now, by that, I mean the east end,
and it extended north to about the line of the
Church [Fine Arts] Building), it took a part
of the hollow and the athletic field. The west
line would be a parallel line to Virginia Street,
and the other line went from Ninth Street

Silas E. Ross

north about what was the west side of Hatch
Station—ten acres. In 1895, the legislature
appropriated $38,000 for two dormitories, one
for men and one for women, and the rest was
to buy that land—$38,000.

During this time, the students wanted
a gymnasium. They wanted an all-purpose
gymnasium, something in which they
could have their dances, could take physical
exercise, have an inside drill area, and have
space large enough to hold public meetings.
So the students, together with the aid of Prof.
N. E. Wilson, represented the University. Fred
P. Dann of Reno, who was a thespian, and B. F.
Curler, who was a young attorney (Dann had
been an actor and Curler was a young attorney
trying to establish himself), they represented
the townspeople. So you had the students, the
faculty, and the townspeople. They gave plays,
and they had almost enough money to pay for
the gym. It was completed just a little after
Fincoln and Manzanita halls. Fincoln Hall
was not called Fincoln Hall at that time; it was
called the men’s dormitory, and Manzanita
was still called the Cottage. The legislature
appropriated just a little money for the gym,
but the students and faculty raised the balance
of the money to build the gym themselves.
That was around 1895.

I have this note that Morrill Hall was
first called the “main building.” Stewart Hall
was called the Cottage, and Hatch Station
was called the Science Building. The other
building, which was on this side [the north
side], was called the agricultural experiment
station building. It was decided sometime
early in the game that they ought to be
given definite names, was told, and I have a
right to believe it, that they thought that Mr.
[Justin] Morrill should be recognized, and
Mr. [William Henry] Hatch, for what they
had done, and that also Senator [William
M.] Stewart should be recognized, because

he’s the man that, when he was Senator, had
prevailed upon the Congress to establish a
military unit in the University for drill for
the men. Now, there’s more behind that than
you think. Because in order to get it, they
needed men students, and further than that,
they needed some additional instructors to
carry on. So he introduced that bill and was
successful in it, so we were the only western
state outside of California that had a cadet
battalion. They named the main building after
Morrill, who sponsored the land grant act; the
science building after Match, who introduced
a bill that got an appropriation for the state in
dollars and cents; and the other one Stewart
because of Stewart’s activity.

I was advised, and this can be confirmed,
I’m sure, if you read the old Regents’ minutes
(I got a lot of my information from George
H. Taylor, who was secretary of the Board
of Regents. Fe was a banker here from
Indiana), that Morrill Hall was used for the
administration and classrooms. The original
library was in the west side of the basement,
and the prep school was on the east side of
the basement. That’s what it was used for.
The science and mining building covered
chemistry, some physics, and biological
science and mining—just classrooms, not any
research, or anything like that. The Agricultural
Experiment Station, the building was used
entirely for the teaching of agriculture and
research, In passing, if I remember correctly
(this came from Mr. Doten, either personally
or in his book), they had an idea about what
could be done in agriculture, and even in
the early days when they were starting these
agricultural colleges, they had no research.
U’s something maybe like the application of
my father. He read this and read that and read
the other thing, and then he started out as a
layman to experiment and made his notes and
governed his actions by what he had learned.

My Association with the University of Nevada

The Cottage afterwards was called Stewart
Hall. The Regents got the money for it because
of the plea of the president at the time that
there were so many girls that it was hard to
find places for them to reside. In the basement
was the old kitchen and dining hail. The first
floor accommodated the normal school, and
there was a room there called the Regents’
room, or office. The second floor was the
girls’ dormitory, and the third floor was an
assembly hall. Well, they also did a little
freehand drawing up there, but before they
got too far, they were using even that for
instruction.

Did I mention the fact that these first
four buildings, every one of them, had a high
basement, two stories, and mansard roofs?
Well, Morrill Hall is an example of it, and
there’re pictures they have somewhere at the
University of all of those buildings, and they’re
all built almost alike in architecture.

The gymnasium at that time was used for
commencement and baccalaureate exercises,
public meetings, class dances, and for such
physical education we had—all it was was
just setting up exercises and probably under
the direction of the commandant, who made
us go through it as in the military, until Miss
[Elsa] Sameth came to the University of
Nevada. Then it was also used for women’s
physical education.

The Student Record started about that
time. To begin with, it was opposed by
the Regents, but the students formed an
independent association, got it started, and
made good, so the Regents gave them a room
in the gym for their offices. I think I’ll cover
that a little bit later.

Now, I’ve covered the old mechanical
building—oh, yes, by the way, the old
mechanical building was wooden and built
mostly by the male students and Dick Brown.
They had their wood shop and lathe shoe and

their iron shop downstairs, and the upper
portion was the boys’ dormitory. That’s where
the men students lived for a while. (The girls
lived over in the Cottage, which would be the
second floor of Stewart Hall.) In November,
1895, the old mechanical building and the
quartz mill and the stables that stood in that
particular area were burned. This quartz
mill—apparently, in mining, they had the
scientific side of it all in the one hall, but as
far as actual mill work and things like that,
they had it spotted on different places on the
campus. They’d have some place perhaps with
big boulders where you could [laughing] run
the drilling machine, and another place you’d
have set up for a mill. May I mention this here.
I nearly forgot to say, when the mechanical
building burned down, the boys were housed
in one of the buildings of Bishop Whitaker’s
old school until Lincoln Hall was built.

Back of this building, the sciences and
quartz mill (and that would be east of where
the Orr Ditch is, in that little area), they had
a stable, also. That stable housed two horses, a
small buggy—you’d call it a truck today—with
a low body. The horse and buggy was used
by the superintendent of the buildings and
grounds to go down and get the University
mail and bring it up and to deliver it back
down, and at the same time, do his shopping
for the dining hail and other incidentals.

Now, the other wagon was used primarily
to haul drinking water from a well, I’ll mention
that a little bit later. It’s situated between what
was then originally the agricultural building
and the mechanical building, and that would
now be between the Fleischmann science
building and the old mechanical. They used
to pump a can of water each day for the
hospital unless they had people in there, and
had to have two for Lincoln Hall, four for the
dining hall, and two for Manzanita. That was
for drinking water. That was a job in itself.

Silas E. Ross

And the boys got up early in the morning,
delivered the water, and then they brought
the empty cans back. They didn’t sterilize ’em,
just washed them out for another day Then it
was also used for moving furniture from one
building to the other and working around the
area and to haul rocks.

This was one big fire, and that happened
to be in 1895, in November. I don’t know
what they did for shop. They might’ve gone
downtown. But the next year, they had
that mechanical building up. I know it was
within that time. So that would mean the old
mechanical building was put up around 1896.
This can be verified, too, from your University
records. The first fire was in November, 1895,
the next one was August, 1900, and that was
the agricultural experimental station building
that was on the side of what is now the Mackay
Science Hall. It was destroyed by fire. It burned
off the mansard roof and all of the inside
there, so the Regents took it upon themselves
to move the agricultural experimental station
over to Hatch Station and, because they
were crowded, to build a chemistry building
for the teaching of chemistry and also for
chemical research in conjunction with the
agricultural experiment station. So they tore
the top off that old building and they kept
the Hatch station for agricultural research,
which took in that research plus the biological
science. They moved the mining school and
the department of physics to the refurbished
building. Then they added a building (it’s
a long building to the east side), extended
it towards the Orr Ditch, which was large
enough for mining, mineralogy, and geology,
laboratory equipment, and such things as that,
and a classroom. Then they put the physics
department downstairs and had the offices
upstairs for mineralogy; that was there when
I started to the University of Nevada. They
called that the mining building then, and

the only science they had in there, outside
of their own field, was physics. And the new
chemistry building, the building that they
built for the chemistry department, was the
one where the Ross Hall stands now. You
remember, it used to be made of stone? They
erected two walls and a part of another and
had put the towers up for the state prison in
Reno. They moved [the remaining] stone and
built this chemistry building. The downstairs
portion was for chemistry, and the upstairs
was for offices and agriculture research, and
physics was over with mining.

Funds were provided by the legislature
for the purchase of additional land (that’s
ten acres) to build two dormitories, one
for women and one for men. The land was
situated on the west side of Hatch Station—
between the west side of Hatch Station and
the State Road, as it was called in the early
days, which is now Virginia Street. Virginia
Street was a dead end then in back of Lincoln
Hall, and it extended back to the north line
of the former campus, joining the two pieces
together. By the way, I think you’ll find, if you
do research, that there were some fractions
left in that that the University had to pick up
later to square it off.

Oh, yes, and looking up the history of
Lincoln Hall, I verified what I was told when I
went in there. They built Lincoln Hall—that is,
finished it first, and Manzanita was later. The
superintendent of buildings said, “Now what
we need is a dining room and a kitchen for the
boys,” and he suggested they try to get money
to build it directly north of the back end of
Lincoln Hall with a causeway, or whatever you
want to call it, so that they could move from
the hall directly into the dining hall and that
area. Of course, that never materialized—that
is part of the history. I think they had in mind
the cramped quarters that they had in the
basement of Stewart Hall, you see, at that time.

My Association with the University of Nevada

This may be interesting. After the
completion of Manzanita Hall, part of the
rooms were occupied by the president and
his family It was only a short time after its
completion that the president realized that
it wasn’t the place for him; the girls needed
it. You’ll find in the minutes of the Board of
Regents where Mr. Barnes recommended that
they should build at least twenty additional
rooms on Manzanita.

Now, that gave the president—and that
was Dr. Stubbs—an “in.” Dr. Stubbs thought
that we ought to provide a home for the
president on the campus. The University
didn’t have any money for anything like that,
hut they discussed it with the townspeople
and others, and the Regents leased that
acreage to the president for a certain number
of years. The townspeople made loans from
a hundred to five hundred dollars, and Dr.
Stubbs himself put in around three thousand
of his own money to build the president
residence. I think the building cost, oh,
around eight thousand dollars. Then they
went to the legislature. I think that the
governor recommended that they should
take up the loans, because in the terms of this
lease, at the end of a certain period of time, it
became the property of the University. Now,
by his moving out of Manzanita, that gave the
girls the extra room they needed for a while.
Then they finally did put on an addition. Now,
in passing, we must remember that while
these first four buildings were on what they
said was level ground, it wasn’t too level. It
slanted quite a bit.

Another interesting thing about that time:
many people ask us about the flagstaff. They
hadn’t provided any flagstaff, and that was
provided around the time of the Spanish-
American War, around 1898. I recall that
because my brother was at war, and Father
had come to town on his weekend outing, and

he was one of the contributors to that fund.
They presented this flagpole, or had it built,
and then, at the commencement following,
the townspeople presented a flag to fly over
the campus. They had a dedication ceremony
during commencement for it. Now, of course,
that pole is down. They now have a metal
pole. But that’s the beginning of it, that thing.
I think that pole was very much higher than
the one they have now.

Then the Evans people had their home
before Evans sold some property, and he had a
little reservoir up on top of the hill; it was filled
from the Orr Ditch. The water ran from that
down into his home. Then to the left, as you
come in the main gates off of Center Street,
the people in that block had a reservoir on the
top of that hill. You see, it was high in there,
and they used that for water for the homes.
They were abandoned when Mr. [Clarence]
Mackay came in and gave the money for the
appropriations. They were there when I was
there.

Now this here’s of interest: of course,
you had to have land for the agricultural
experiment station, and that first piece of
land that they had was bounded on the east
by the Asylum Road, and on the north by the
Southern Pacific right-of-way, on the south
by the river, and on the west by the English
Mill properties. That Kietzke Lane extension,
and so forth, goes right through the middle
of it now. But the authorities in Washington
held that that was not large enough to do any
experimenting and also held that the soil was
not sufficiently good to do their experimenting
in, and they told the Regents to do something
about it. And there, Washoe County stepped
into the picture, and that’s when they bought
this ground on Valley Road. It was bounded
on the west by Valley Road, on the east by
what is now Wells Avenue, on the south by,
I think, what is Seventh Street extended, and

Silas E. Ross

upon the north by an abutting agricultural
property, which would be practically on, oh,
the line of the back end of our campus then,
which would be where the Hatch station
finally was for a period of time. The interesting
thing about that is that it met with approval,
and Washoe County had to buy it. They did,
and they bought it from a man by the name
of Morrill, Enoch Morrill. (I knew him well;
he has a great-granddaughter living here
now.) They bought it from him to present to
the University for agricultural experimental
work. That deed had a condition on it. I can’t
quote it, but I knew about it, and I had an
occasion to look it up years ago when they
tried to put in Sadler Way, and later, when
the government wanted to put in a bunch of
houses on it for people that are out here at
Stead Base. There is a reversion clause in it.
And when the city of Reno wanted to take
off the north side, that condition was cited.
They needed it right away, so they had to buy
it from the farmers abutting it. The legislature
got into the picture by agreeing to contribute
a little bit towards it through a separate fund
which came from buying and selling livestock,
and so forth. They contributed towards it that
way and set up a condition that the University
would never be held—or the state—for the
paving of that street for sidewalks, curbs, and
gutters. They would put in bridges and then
pave them for water to cross the way and a
good fence of wire, and such things along
the line.

Now, I note this in the study of the’
school system: In those early days; there
were perhaps only two high schools in the
state. That would be Virginia City and Reno,
with possibly a third one in Carson. But the
influence of this early administration at the
University on the people of the state was so
great that they thought they had money to
have high schools. They were three-year high

schools, and they were increased from three
to seven. Now, that can be documented, if
you want to.

I’m not going to state too much about
Stephen Jones, for the reason that people
might think it was biased. He happens to be
a cousin-in-law of my first wife’s father. He
married a Miss Coffin, as I’ve told you. Mr.
Jones was a blue-bellied Yankee, that’s all.
He was born in Maine. He had a marvelous
education. He was a graduate of Dartmouth
and he taught at Penn State and he studied
for a year at the University of Munster in
Germany. He attended and lectured in the
University of Bern and then studied two years
in Greek and Latin. He received his Ph.D.
from Dartmouth. Here’s an interesting thing.
In one of the observations I read about him,
they said that he was weak in administrative
experience, but he was brilliant in the other.
And when they meant weak in administrative
experience, [they meant that] he didn’t know
money or anything about it. Yet, when he left
here, he went down to San Jose and started a
business. He died when he was still working
down there, a wealthy man.

Now, he had a fund of practical knowledge
because of both this country and Europe.
He had a scholarly background, and he was
principal of the high school from Colorado at
the time they picked him up. They chose him
in preference to many others that they had
interviewed because they thought that practical
experience in different universities would
give him a background, plus the teaching
experience would be helpful here. Now, during
his administration, they had a panic in this
area, so things weren’t easy for him at all. It
seems to me that during his administration,
when you look over the curriculum and the
way he advanced it, he made steady progress
with a conservative community. There was
much accomplished and much to be done.

My Association with the University of Nevada

Now, if we go into the buildings, we find
that Jones obtained the money to finish up
Stewart Hall. That’s the girls’ dormitory. The
bottom floor was a dining area. It was a dining
area when I started to the university. The
second floor was for the normal school and
the president’s office, the Regents’ office. The
third—that is, the first floor above this one, the
floor above that was the dormitory. And up
top was the recreation and assembly centers.
Then Hatch Station was built. Got into a little
Dutch for using the Hatch fund for teaching.
I’ll mention that a little bit later. But he used
that money, and they did some experimental
work, see, built a farm and got out some good
papers and equipment and so on. Too, the state
mining laboratory building was taken care of,
and that’s the old Hatch station.

I was picking up something in connection
with the history of the Board of Health, and
I ran across this. They had a state board of
health that had certain powers and such
things as that—not too strong, but they did
have the powers to regulate. I think there was
an epidemic of smallpox, and some of the boys
came down with the smallpox one time over
there in the boys’ dormitory at the Bishop
Whitaker School, and they were quarantined,
and all of their clothing was taken away
from them. Then when they were over the
quarantine, they brought the clothing to the
students that had been quarantined. The next
legislature appropriated the money to pay for
the clothing. Looking over the list of boys, I
knew a lot of these by reputation. Long Tom
Smith was the largest man in the bunch. But
his clothing cost less than anybody else! It
was specified how much they were supposed
to cost, and I said, “How come?”

And he said, “I didn’t have much clothing.”
It didn’t cost too much.

Now, then, during Jones administration,
we find this machine shop was built, and then

it burned down. And at that particular time,
it was called “the ram’s pasture,” “the shop,”
and such things as that. Called it “the ram’s
pasture.” And in that building, the old THPO
fraternity was organized. (I was talking to
Bob Laxalt one day, and I said it was known
as “the ram’s pasture,” and when I concluded
my description, he said, “The ram’s pasture?!”
I said, “Yes.” And he said, “I didn’t know they
herded sheep on the campus!” His father was
a sheep man, you see.)

You understand, they didn’t teach too
much mining, but in that particular station,
they had chemistry, physics, and assaying—
everything like that. All the assaying, and such
as that, they tell me they had a building up near
this “ram’s pasture” where they could do this
work. So they moved and they fixed this up
for the mining school. And then they moved
everybody in connection with mining to the
mining building. Then the agricultural people
worked over there, and the mining people, the
chemistry, and the physics. I think one of those
fellows [from one of those departments] taught
some mathematics at the time. Then during
the early Stubbs administration, they made it
completely the agricultural Experiment Station
building. They taught some classes there in the
building, the old chemistry building, and that
was the one that was stone.

Now, President Jones went before the
legislature and he advocated the building of a
new dormitory for men and a new dormitory
for women, and he asked to raise enough
money to build the old gymnasium. And I’ve
told the story about that.

Now, during that administration when
they built Lincoln Hall and Manzanita Hall,
they had for the first time steam heat, and they
had plumbing, and such things as that, and
they even had electric lights! You read Richard
Brown’s memoirs. It’s interesting to hear him
tell that story. That’s in ’92.

Silas E. Ross

So I would say this for Mr. Jones, that
he built upon what Dr. Brown had started,
and because of his broad knowledge of the
University and such things as that, he was
able to increase his faculty. He had twelve in
his faculty in 1889 or ’90, but when he left in
’93, ’94, he had twenty. And of that group,
many of them were there when I entered the
University. Strong men.

What was he like personally, to sit down
and talk to? Courteous, curious, analytical.
He had a lot of this New England thrift, you
see. He was a stern-looking man—Doten’s
is a good picture of him; it was taken when
he was sitting at his desk. You had to know
him to appreciate him, He was an individual.
When he’d walk in, he was—he looked like
somebody. But as a rule, you’d hesitate to
approach him unless you were properly
introduced, and then you were all right.

The first time I met him was in 1913 when
Emily’s brother died, Then we got off the train
coming back from Texas, where he was in
the mechanical engineering department as
a teacher. Mr. Coffin wanted to be cremated,
so they disinterred him. Emily and I took
him down for cremation, and Stephen Jones
came up with his two boys to the cremation.
It was a short service in the afternoon, and we
went back to the Jones residence. Now he was
a Quaker and they Were Quakers, and you
know the Quakers; you’d go into their home
and there’s never anything extra, just what
you need. It had to be sturdy but comfortable
period furniture, [nothing obvious], or
decorations. The home was lovely, but you
could see that he never spent too much money
on it.

There’s one thing, here, interesting, that
during the Jones administration, the students
did publish a college paper, but it didn’t last
very long. It was published monthly, and
they called it the University Monthly. I guess

it must have been a magazine. Oh, yes, too,
during his administration, he encouraged
some social life. Practically all of our meetings
and everything like that were in Morrill Hall.
We used to be divided into two rooms. They
took a partition out and that was the assembly
place where we had the meetings. It was called
Room Six, I think. So they left here and went
to San Jose and looked around and he started
his business—bought land, sold land, and the
like of that.

When we were trying to get pictures of
the presidents, I contacted the Jones brothers,
and they graciously consented to do it. T got
an old picture of President Jones sitting at his
desk in what is now the northwest corner of
Morrill Hall. That was his office. T had it done.
So when they came up that year, T. think that
[Augustine] Gus (that’s the young one) gave
the baccalaureate address, and I’m not so sure
whether Herbert gave the commencement
address or whether he gave the Phi Kappa
Phi address.

Now, for two boys, they’re alike in many
ways, but they’re as different as night is from
day. Gus, the younger one, was full of the devil
and in mischief all the time. Herbert was a
staid individual right on through. Gus became
a preacher and Herbert became an attorney. \s
a matter of fact, Gus became quite prominent
as a preacher. They were both graduates of
Stanford. Herbert went back and practiced
law in San Jose, and he’s still practicing,
fie went into politics. He was elected state
senator from that county and he was favorably
mentioned as candidate for governorship.
The staunch Republicans and those people
were, you know, thinking his way, but he
wouldn’t go. They counted on him, but he
wouldn’t go. His most recent work was work
for the Santa Clara County water. Under his
guidance, they built these dams to conserve
the water. Then he went to Washington and

My Association with the University of Nevada

got the permission to connect into this canal
that’s going to come up about to Sacramento
and bring it up over.

Memoir on Early University of Nevada
Faculty and Buildings

I knew practically all of the first faculty,
not at the time that they came, but later
through association. I have known every
president of the University since that time. I
didn’t know Mr. [Le Roy] Brown, but I knew
him through his son quite well. Now, Miss
Clapp: when the Regents hired Mr. Brown, at
the same time, they hired Hannah Clapp as his
assistant. Then they got together in looking
over the situation, they had to have somebody
for the normal school, they had to have
somebody for the agricultural experiment
work, and they needed to have somebody
for mining, and they needed somebody for
the prep school because that was important.
Now, the gentleman that they had by the
name of Fielding for mining, to begin with,
left soon. And then the first big person they
brought here was in science work, a man
by the name of Walter McNabb Miller, the
teacher of natural science. And then they
brought in Kate Tupper, who had quite a fine
experience as a teacher of normal (school]
people, and she came in from—I think it was
Oregon. Then they brought in R. D. Jackson
for the school of mines. They brought in
Orvis Ring to head the prep school, and later
brought in Arthur Ducat (he was a lieutenant)
to take care of the military. And all of those
men in military, clear up through my time,
taught some subjects in the University. This
fellow taught modern language. Then they
brought in a chap by the name of Hillman in
entomology. He didn’t last very long. Now,
Ducat was a graduate of West Point; Hillman
had done graduate work in his particular line;

Jackson was a graduate of the University of
California school of mining, and he’d had
some experience in teaching and field work
there; Miller, they brought in from the East
somewhere on this general science because
his subjects were big enough to cover & strong
field. Now, that’s the first faculty.

Now, as far as Miss Clapp is concerned,
I remember her in Reno, but my mother
knew her in Carson. She conducted a girls’
school over there. She brought her friend,
Miss Babcock, with her, and they continued
that teaching. But when summer came, they
were idle. Then the state advertised for bids
to construct that metal fence around the state
capitol. The advertisement said that it would
be given to the lowest bidder who could
qualify These two ladies bid on it and they
were the low bid.

This has never been disputed, but that
again is hearsay. Father was pretty close to
the political picture at that particular time,
and being New England Yankee and Scotch
background, he had to know pretty much.
Whatever the name is of the board that
had the money for this contract planned
to get out of it, but she got representation
and they had to give it. And by golly, these
girls built that thing in record time and they
made a nice little profit. That’s where they
got their little start for their other school.
And then she was brought over here. There
is an account of Hannah Clapp somewhere.
Maybe it’s in one of Nevada’s histories. You’re
getting her background. Then when she
came to the University, she was an assistant
to Dr. Brown. I can understand how they
would quarrel. I can understand how she
would quarrel with President Jones. She had
become quite masculine. She’d had a lot of
experience in education up to a certain point
and undoubtedly was read up on these things.
She’d been in the habit of ruling the roost

Silas E. Ross

and all, and she did get into a little difficulty.
But she was his assistant to begin with, and
later, she took over the superintendence of
the girls and did some teaching. Then she
became preceptress, practically what we
would call dean of women today. And then
she disappeared. But Miss Babcock died
during that time and she left what she had to
Miss Clapp. Miss Clapp put it into a fund to
build the Babcock kindergarten in Reno, and
the people of the community raised money
on that.

Now, that’s as much as I can tell you about
it, excepting this: Professor Jackson was the
first mining man here, and was well known
in the mining world because he was selective.
While he was teaching, he accepted consulting
fees, and at the same time, he went out and
had properties of his own. He worked out a
lot of processes out of our school of mines
there for these other mines. He had property
all over—around Dayton, he had them up
Como; he had some in the canyon this side
of Washoe City where the old railroad used
to be. He worked out a number of processes.
Then he, too, got into a little difficulty. There
was some jealousy on the faculty, see. The
Regents said he wasn’t putting in his time as
he should. But anyhow, the Regents gave him
a leave of absence and he got these things
straightened out and then he came back.
There was a dispute of some kind; Dr. Stubbs
was to be gone a certain period of time, and
it seems that Professor Jackson thought that
he should be placed in charge. But Dr. Stubbs
placed Professor Thurtell in charge, and that
required—well, it caused dissension and
Jackson resigned. I’ll cover that, I think, a
little bit later.

Well, Mrs. Mary W. Emery was appointed
to succeed Miss Tupper, who left for more
fertile fields, I guess. Then they had a Mr.
Devol, who had been acting—well, a lot of

superintending experiment stations. He didn’t
last very long; he was succeeded by Professor
R. H. McDowell. Bobby Lewers was brought
in from the outside to teach the commercial
department and what they called commerce.
Also, he took care of the registration and such
things as that.

Richard Brown was brought in in the
early part or maybe the last part of the
Brown administration or the first of the Jones
administration. He was very handy with
tools and things like that and he was made
superintendent of buildings and grounds.
Then when Lincoln Hall was completed, he
and his wife had an apartment there—all
those years. My, how the men loved him!
In my judgment, Richard Brown had more
friends among the men graduates than
anyone else on the hill. I think it was due to
the human side of the individual. He was a
disciplinarian and he believed in discipline,
but he felt that when he did, he was right and
he wanted you to take it. Then once he gave
it to you, he stayed your friend. He’d give you
the shirt off his back.

Another interesting side of Dick (and I’ll
refer to it later if you think this is all right),
we had a heating plant in Lincoln Hall, and
we had two lovely fireplaces in there, too.
One was for the boys’ loafing room, and
one was on the other side for company and
guests. But the heating plant didn’t always
work too well, and particularly for the boys
on the upper floor, you’d get cold. Now, we’d
get some wood; we couldn’t afford to buy
it, but in back of what is now Stewart Hall
(I’ll refer to that a little bit later), we had a
little building there. One side of it was Dick
Brown’s office, the superintendent, and the
other side of it contained all the working
things and the like of that. Then they had
the big wood pile there and coal urn which
was used for fuel for the kitchen stove and

My Association with the University of Nevada

coal and also for the wood for the different
buildings. The janitors used to go and carry
the fuel to the lecture rooms up there. Then
they had a long, diagonal wooden walk going
to Lincoln Hall. And this was just one of those
things—the freshmen were grouped together
and told, “Here, now, when winter comes,
this is your duty to have so many sticks of
wood up to the men’s dormitory (Lincoln
Hall) every night.” The upperclassmen would
explain this to the freshmen. The freshmen
would set this up: two of them would engage
Dick in conversation, and four of them or
six of them or whatever it might be would
each pick up a log, and they’d light out for
Lincoln Hall. These other fellows taking Dick’s
[attention] (now, I think he knew what was
going on) would take the wood and start the
fire in the Lincoln Hall fireplace. Dick would
appear and give us the dickens. He was not
really mad! And he’d come in once in a while
and sit down, and the boys’d tell him stories.
It made him feel good if he came up with
something to stump us. Even had the dog
bark. He stuttered a little bit. I remember
one fellow—one night a fellow told a terrible
[story] and Dick stuttered, “De-de-de-de, you
heard the God damn barkin’ last night!” Now,
he knew what we were doing, and he knew
that it wouldn’t be felt one way or the other, yet
he had to attempt to enforce the regulation.
But he never reported us. That’s the kind of a
fellow, gives you an idea of what Dick Brown
was. I’ll tell more about him later.

Now, they brought in a gentleman by
the name of J. Warne Phillips to teach the
chemistry and physics. He stayed for a while
and did a whale of a job. He was also interested
in athletics and helped the boys along with
sports. Thomas W. Cowgill was brought in in
the early days, and his subject was English and
history. Nathaniel E. Wilson was brought in
as the chemist of the agricultural experiment

station. Dr. Church was brought in; he was
titled professor of Latin and literature. Then
when Mr. Jackson quit, they appointed
Charles J. Brown, who’d graduated from the
University of Nevada in mining and who
had done a little teaching and graduate work
under Jackson and who had been to Cornell.
He just got things organized, and then he took
typhoid fever and died. So they then brought
in George J. Young to take over mining. They
brought in George D. Louderback in geology
and mineralogy, and Laura de Laguna to run
the languages, Patrick B. Kennedy in botany
and horticulture, George Blessing as professor
of mechanical engineering. The next year they
brought James G. Scrugham here as assistant
prof, Romanzo Adams in charge of sociology
and education—well, I’m getting a little ahead
of myself here. In the case of Louderback, they
brought in William Tanger Smith in geology.
Let’s see, Gordon True came in in agriculture
and animal husbandry, and George J. Young to
succeed Jackson and Brown, Peter Frandsen
in biology, Jeanne Elizabeth Wier in history,
and L. W. Cushman in English, and Ralph
Minor in physics. Sam Doten took over
entomology.

Now, practically all of those people were
at the University when I matriculated. Of
course, Miss Emery had gone, and McDowell
had gone, Phillips had gone, Cowgill died,
and Cushman took his place. Wilson was
there; Church was there; Louderback left the
year that I came; Miss de Laguna was there;
Kennedy was there; Blessing left the year that I
came to the University; Romanzo Adams was
there, True was there, George Young, Thurtell,
Peter Frandsen, Miss Wier, Cushman, Minor,
Doten— they were all there. One of our
graduates, Harry Dexter, was a librarian
there for a while, but there was a lady—she
was Mary Burnham at that time. Oh, I’ll
tell you somebody else who was there. Kate

Silas E. Ross

Bardenwerper in domestic science, James
Reed in mineralogy, Kate Riegelhuth was
an instructor in English, Katherine Lewers,
the instructor in freehand drawing and art,
Alice Layton instructed vocal music, and H.
H. Howe, principal of the high school, and
Boardman in civil engineering. Of course,
there were changes there, even that first year.
Robert Brambilla was professor of military
science and tactics.

Of course, in Morrill Hah the whole
administration was on the west side of the
first floor, the president’s office back in there,
and the registrars offices over in here. Bobby
Lewers took care of the books and so forth—
all in Morrill Hall. Then on the other side, the
north half was mathematics and the south
half had philosophy and psychology in it. On
the next floor of classrooms, on the east side
of there, they had an assembly room called
Room Six. That’s where they had the faculty
meetings; We’d have our group meetings—
oh, like those interested in declamation and
literary work would meet,

Well, now, here’s something I’ve written
down here. When I came to the University
in 1905, the first floor of Stewart Hall was
the English and history, and the second floor,
foreign languages, sociology, and psychology.
Well, that doesn’t make any difference, either.
The mechanical building housed several
mechanical and electrical engineering
department laboratories and classrooms,
and the old mining building was there, But
before I graduated (ours was the second
class to graduate from the Mackay School
of Mines), the Regents constructed a little
wooden building down on the front of the
campus below the darn for Manzanita Lake (it
wasn’t as large as it is now), and they had that
for music. Of course, they didn’t have music
then like they have today, but the people that
we had, some of them organized the men’s

and women’s glee club, The main thing was to
teach under the A and M act, the teachers, so
that they’d know a lot about music and could
go out and be able to play a little bit on the
organ, teach the kids to sing a little bit.

Let’s see, when I was there first, they
had the Morrill Hall, Hatch Station, Stewart
Hall, mechanical building, mining building,
gymnasium, Lincoln Hall, Manzanita Hall,
the dining hall, barn for two horses and buggy
and wooden walks—with the exception of in
front of the building, they had wooden walks
everywhere, That tram in those days was
across the south end of Manzanita Lake, but
the south end of Manzanita Lake was about
the back end of the old Manzanita. They’d
come across that and land about on the back
end of what was Hatch Station.

Well, now, Lincoln Hall was a dormitory
for the boys; Manzanita Hall was the girls’
dormitory. Then the University dining hall
was built after I came there and was placed on
the north end of Manzanita. The University
hospital was built and it was located just east
of Lincoln Hall. The gymnasium—I have that
worked out elsewhere. The athletic field is
the same location as the Mackay Lield is now
[1965], only it wasn’t as large.

Professor Thurtell was the head of the
mathematics department when I entered.
During that year, he was appointed state
engineer by the new governor. He took a
leave of absence at the end of that particular
time. The governor offered him a place on
the Nevada railroad commission, and he
was granted a leave of absence for that. Later,
they imported him to Washington to work on
those kind of commissions. He studied law
on the side and then, towards the end, was
practicing law before this commission. He
died there and was cremated and his ashes
are up in the Masonic cemetery in Reno in a
plot which he took when his first wife died.

My Association with the University of Nevada

His first leave of absence, they brought in
a man by the name of Mr. Jackson. Now, I
ought to have his name somewhere—James
R. Jackson. He took a leave of absence from
Kentucky. Then when Thurtell resigned after
he went to Washington, they brought in
Charles Haseman as professor of mathematics
and mechanics.

Dr. George Louderback was one of
the foremost graduates in geology and
mineralogy in the country. He took his degree
from the University of California and then
went ahead and got his Ph.D. He came up
here for a number of years and was a fine
workhorse, but his health broke and he had
to give it up. He went down to California and
he just did consulting work. They hated to lose
him. As a successor to him, they brought in
this W. S. Tanger Smith, who had been for
years with the USGS; he’s the one that I took
all of my geology under.

Now, then, Blessing, he was from
Kentucky. He’s the one that brought James
G. Scrugham out here. Scrugham was serving
under him and Blessing was offered a far
better job than he had here and he accepted.
Then Mr. Scrugham became head of the
department and he expanded eventually into
electrical work. Then he got that building
built for electrical engineering. Then he
was appointed state engineer. Prom that, he
became governor, and then he was out a little
bit, and then a congressman, then a senator.
And that’s when Sibley came in to take his
place.

Cushman, he was a scholar, but during
his time, and just two or three years before
we entered in 1905, they passed a rule that
all freshmen had to take an examination
in English. We were advised by the
upperclassmen that we shouldn’t show up
for it, that we had credit from high school;
the University admissions said thus and so.

We had that and we didn’t have to take any
examination. So all but two of us didn’t show
up. I was a green kid from the country and
I thought, “Well, that’s an order.” The other
was Stanley Palmer. We went up to take
this examination, Stan and I, and Cushman
started to talk to us and explained why the
requirement was established. He said if we
could take an examination along certain lines,
that that would give him an opportunity to
find out our weakness and to help us. He
outlined all these things to us and I took notes
on it. So he said we didn’t need to take the
examination, You know, Stan and I were the
only ones in the class that didn’t have to take
an examination in English at the end of the
semester! We were excused! But he was trying
to help us out, and it was another one of those
student things, you see. Well, he stayed for a
while, but he was so good another university
claimed him. He succeeded Mr. Cowgill.

Now, Prof Wilson was one of the finest
teachers that I ever had. He was practical.
And in his lectures in chemistry, he might
be lecturing about the properties of this or
the properties of that or the properties of the
other thing, and he’d finally end up by saying
that, “Now, they use this this way,” outside
of what your text told you. That—this way
appealed to you.

For instance, I can remember as though
it were yesterday. We were talking about
the permanganate salts, and particularly,
potassium permanganate and all these uses,
and so forth, and there’s one—something
I want to tell you about it. He said, “You
people don’t need it.” He said, “And that’s
what they use to cure these feet that sweat so
much and smell. You use a dilute solution of
that, you’ll kill the germs, and then you’re all
right.” I never forgot it. Then when it came
to the manufacture 6f the sulfuric acid, he
sat up a miniature operation and explained

Silas E. Ross

the process in detail. He was interested in so
many things outside of his work, and most of
it was students.

Now, frankly, Prof Wilson was sort of
an advisor to the old THPO group in the
beginning, and he thought that they ought
to go national. We asked him how to petition
Phi Gamma Delta. Well, us kids didn’t know
any different, 30 they set the application in
motion, and it was going all right, and finally,
we had opposition from a former THPO, who
was a Phi Gamma Delta someplace else. He
raised hell about it. And Prof said, “Kick it in
the street.” Then he got behind us and a man
by the name of Reed, who was an SAE, and
they started us on that petition. Now, that’s the
kind of an individual he was. But he resigned
at the end of the first year because he felt that
he’d gone as far as he could. He didn’t have
a doctor’s degree and they were beginning
to want that as a prerequisite. He could’ve
bought and sold the lot of them, but he had
an opportunity to go into the pharmacy
business and also do research. He’d already
taken his examination for a pharmacist and
passed. Then he started the Dalton, Clifford
and Wilson store.

I can’t think of who was teaching biological
science, but when Professor Frandsen came
back from Cornell, I think he went to work
as an assistant up there in the biological
science. After this fellow left to go elsewhere,
they made Pete the head of the department.
Now, I remember him when he was just a
young fellow going to the University. As a
matter of fact, I can almost remember when
his father came from Denmark. I can see
the house where they lived, on the corner of
East Street—on East Fourth. His father was
a cousin of the Frandsen of the Frandsen
Apartments and a sheepman. Peter used to
work on the ranches to get money to go to the
University. He was always interested in those

things and applied himself. They called him
“Peter Bugs”; that is, I think a nickname that
was an endearing term, tore than anything
else. It didn’t make any difference what he
had there, he’d stay at it ’til he knew what it
was, and he’d tell them about it. [Faughing]
He seemed to enjoy it. How, at the time that
[my nephew] Ross [Whitehead] wanted to
go to dental school and son [Silas E. Ross, Jr.]
wanted to go to medical school, I, of course,
was quite interested, and in my travels I
visited a lot of these schools. I found this—
that any of the larger schools that I went to,
they all asked me if I knew Dr. Frandsen. A
recommendation from him was as good as
entrance in these big schools up until the last
few years, because they said that these fellows
were—well, they were thoroughly grounded.

Well, I knew H. P. Boardman very well. He
was a little bit dry, but he was, in his nature, a
monotone, but he was thorough. He certainly
earned the respect of every civil engineer
in the area. It isn’t generally known, but he
was consulted by engineers from all over the
country when they had a problem. I think
to really realize just how alert he was, these
letters that he’d been writing to the editor
on this Seventh Street layout? Now, mind
you, that man was losing his eyesight, but
daughter’d read to him and he would make
notes as best he could and have her keep notes
where he’d tell her, and then he’d turn around
and dictate.

I knew Jeanne Elizabeth Wier, too. I had
to find out a lot about her upon retirement. I
was on the Board of Regents.

Ralph Minor, head of the department of
physics, I knew him. Minor was here about
three years, maybe four, and the University
of California took him away from us. That’s
when we got Dr. Hartman.

Well, of course, Kate Bardenwerper.
She was the [teacher of what] they used to

My Association with the University of Nevada

call domestic science. She was a sweet old
character, and she did a lot of good, too. I
think her friendliness, her good common
sense, and her willingness to help boosted
the department to beat the band. Of course,
it’s nothing like we have now, but it was just
plain cooking, sewing, and so on.

Of course, Miss de Laguna was a neighbor
of ours for a long time, and she and Miss
Bardenwerper lived together. Then they
retired and moved to San Francisco. Oh, they
were goody-goody, both of’em! But Mrs. Ross
and I went down to the city one time and saw
them there. We heard that this good show that
was kind of suggestive was on. So we went
over to get in line to get some tickets, and
who was up ahead of us but these two! Oh, it
was a little risque.

What was Scrugham like when he was on
campus? How do I want to describe it? He
was a restless individual. He was living out
here [gesture] most of the time and he never
neglected anything down here [gesture] .Re
turned out a lot of good men. I talked to GE
and Westinghouse and the Stone and Webster
people about our engineering department at
Nevada. The first man that went back there
from here was Hunt Gallagher, and that
was 1908. I think that’s the first year that
Scrugham was at the head of that department,
replacing Blessing. Hugh actually laid the
foundation for other Nevada students. I’ve
talked to those recruitment people because
I go east quite often, and my daughter lives
in Schenectady, and we have contacts at the
other places. They say they like Nevada men
because they’re not afraid to “get out and get
under.” Now, that’s an expression that not all
people understand. It means this: that they are
willing to get on their dirty clothes, or even
take good clothes. If there’s something wrong
underneath, they’ll get out and find out about
it instead of telling somebody else to do it, and

then fix it. These boys have gone on in the
field. I’ve talked to many of these recruiters
at the beginning of that time, and they head
for Nevada. And you know how many of our
people go. And it’s surprising the number of
mechanical, civil, and mining engineers have
gone to General Electric and Westinghouse
and Stone and Webster.

Now, carrying that department right on
down, this story is definitely told. Purdue
was thinking of building a new laboratory
building, and they were going to send their
dean out to go over the country. He happened
to be at some place where the representative
of GE was and they asked him what schools
he was going to go to. This fellow listened and
finally said, “You’re missing something. Go
to these others, but before you come back,
go over to Nevada and see their laboratory.
And you’ll find laboratories on wheels, roller
skates, and everything else. And you’ll find
out why they can operate in a snail space.” Vie
said, “That’s where we go to get our engineers.”
So you can see the reputation.

Starting out, I think Blessing started it
because no one said it was a blessing; When
he left, they were sorry. But he did bring in
Scrugham and a couple assistants [laughing],
all from Kentucky, and they called them the
“Kentucky peril!” Just like they called the
dormitory in that mechanical building the
“ram’s pasture.”

Robert N. Brambilla, whom I knew well,
was raised in the orphan’s home. Now, let me
back up and say he was born at Mazatlan in
Mexico. His father was a mining man, so he
decided to come to this area, then go down
into the Tybo area. That’s in Nye County.
So Bob and his older sister were children
and they moved down into Tybo and there
were three other children born. One of them
died there. When the bottom dropped out of
Tybo, there wasn’t anything doing. Then Mrs.

Silas E. Ross

Brambilla died, and then the bottom dropped
out of Tybo. He had to do something, so he
went back to Mexico, and the children were
put in the orphan’s home in Carson City He
wasn’t there very long and he was doing well
and sending money in, but he disappeared.
They found that the bandits got him, killed
him, and took his gold.

Orvis Ring took an interest in Toby, as
he did many a boy, and he helped him with
his math, and such things as that, in the
Carson High School and helped him when
he came over to the University, he was a little
bit of a fellow. He was pledged THPO and
the fraternity put a penalty on anybody that
induced him to smoke or drink. He never did.

He graduated in 1897 from the University
in agriculture. There wasn’t anything open
for him at the time, so he went over to work
(I think it was in Meyers’ store) in Carson.
Then we had the outbreak of the Spanish-
American War. So he volunteered for officers’
candidate school training because he’d been in
the cadet battalion and they accepted him. He
went all through the training and he passed a
marvelous examination, ray up here [gesture],
and [when] he came to his physical, they
didn’t give him one. He was too short.

Well, he was disappointed and he contacted
Dr. Stubbs and told him what his predicament
was. Dr. Stubbs got in touch with his brother,
who was with the Union Pacific then and close
to E. H. Harriman. Harriman got in touch
with President McKinley. President McKinley
wired the presidio to commission him. He
spent the rest of his life in the U. S. Army until
retirement. He was the commandant the year
I entered the University. And in one of these
Artemisias, you’ll see a picture of the dignity
of the cadet battalion.

He [Brambilla] stayed with the Army, and
he fought in the Philippines and in the Boxers’
War, and then he was down on the Mexican

border. Then when it came World War I, they
sent him over, and he was in charge of colored
troops. He was just a little bit of a fellow, hut
he made such a record that they sent him back
here. He could handle these people. He was
brave. He’d get out and fight. They put him in
charge of training them.

Then after that, he just had an ordinary
assignment, and they retired him just before
this last war. Oh, Toby was mad! He said,
“You’re bringin’ these young kids up and
makin’ tern colonels, and they don’t know
anything at all.”

Now, Bob [Brambilla, Jr.] came along, and
he had that experience, but he went into this
volunteer outfit. He’d been all over the country
and he’d been promoted. Just about the time
that his father died he became a colonel.
Now he is a military advisor to the military
attache in the South American countries.
They sent Bobby and his wife both down to
take work—speak the Spanish language. And
his boy passed the examination to enter the
Army this last year.

Joseph E. Stubbs

I remember my father telling the family,
coming home one Saturday afternoon after
his business, that a new president had been
selected for the University of Nevada. I
can remember, also, when he and Mother
attended the inauguration. When they came
home, I asked questions and Father answered
it to all of us. He said, “He appears to be a
bright man, sincere, and talked in simple
language. He should make a good leader.”

Now, my older brother Charles and
older sister Emma were in what was called
the University during the terms of both Dr.
Drown and Dr. Jones. My younger brother
Irvin (he was the younger of those three) was
there during a part of Jones’ administration

My Association with the University of Nevada

and through the Stubbs administration
when he enlisted in the Spanish-American
War. He did not return to the University. I
can remember that in the discussions and
while Irvin was in the University, he made a
statement something like this: In discussing
Dr. Stubbs with his parents, he said that he
was most impressed with the sincerity and
friendliness of Dr. Stubbs. Of course, I met
him when I entered college in 1905, and the
thing that impressed me so much was that he
addressed the freshman class after we were
organized.

When Dr. Stubbs appeared before us, that,
to me, was unusual—I hadn’t had that in high
school. When he came in, he didn’t come in
as a president of the University, he came in as
a friend of ours. The thing that impressed me
so much about him was that he was just so
warm and friendly. We were impressed, and
I was inspired by his sincerity. He oriented
us as to our duties and responsibilities to
the University, the state, and our parents.
He emphasized that the University had the
responsibility of guiding us and to teach us,
that we should, if we expected to make a
success, cooperate. That made him a leader
in my opinion.

His predecessors had laid down a good
foundation beginning with nothing to work
with and built it up. I think I have told some
of that before, it was up to Dr. Stubbs to
erect a superstructure, as I called it. Not
many students registered; the needs of the
University were many and the means at hand
were small, Now, if my reading is correct, in
1874, when the University started at Elko,
there were only two high schools in the
state. By 1884 (that’s before the University
was moved Ito Reno)), there were five high
schools in the state. In 1894, there were ten
high schools, but there wasn’t any uniformity
in the curriculum that they offered. Now, a

great many of the areas had no high schools,
and the result was that the young people of
the area that were through the local school
had gone as far as they could in an education
in the area. Another thing that we find at that
particular time was that many of those people
who had finished the eighth grade were given
an opportunity to take the teacher’s exam for a
teacher’s certificate, and the requirements, of
course, were quite low, Where there was a high
school and they had finished a high school,
they were given the rest of the examinations,
the opportunity to teach in high school. So,
you see, they didn’t have too much then.

Dr. Stubbs apparently saw the need
to care for the youth where there were
no high schools, he also saw the need of
having properly prepared teachers to teach
throughout the state. One of the first things
that he did after he was making a survey
of the state was to establish the University
high school. That was called the trade school
at the time, but it was converted into a
preparatory school during the early period of
Dr. Stubbs’ administration. It was a basis for
the overlapping of courses necessary to learn
to teach properly and normal and such things
as that. And finally, a full three-year and then
a four-year high school was established.

Now, let me say this, that the faculty at
the time that he [Stubbs] came here had been
increased considerably by Dr. Jones. But it
was limited in what they could do, first by
physical plant and secondly with equipment
to work with, and a real organization of a
real faculty—in other words, the center of
the faculty. Dr. Stubbs, after establishing this
prep school and better facilities, the next thing
that he did, with the consent of the Board
of Regents, was to advance the admission
requirements. Then he set up, clearly defined
the work of the colleges that we had there.
But he made a sharp division between the

Silas E. Ross

high school and the normal school and other
departments. In other words, it was sharply
defined. (And, by the way, Sam Doten was the
first head of the prep school.)

They had established the start of the
commercial school— or, rather they gave a
commercial course to these people; it was
mostly on the high school level. But at the
time that they expanded this particular thing,
they included in the University setup what
was called a commercial school wherein they
learned about bookkeeping and keeping of
records, and such things as that. That was the
beginning of the school of business. Now, the
normal school had an overlapping of the high
school, and they took that completely out of
the high school and set it up with a head of
the school, but most of the teaching was done
by professors in the other departments. They
didn’t get too darned much, other than to get
the fundamentals that are necessary.

We had a man by the name of Dr.
Romanzo Adams at the head of the normal
school, and my friend Cushman pointed out
that shortly before we entered the University
that the normal school was getting a setup
suitable to the special character of the subject
matter and to its definite, useful purpose. I was
told by these two men that I talked to, which
was verified afterwards by going to Professor
Wilson and some other faculty members, that
Dr. Stubbs had joined the faculty in closer
relation to each other. Dr. Stubbs was eager to
get all the University personnel together. He
established the hours and schedules, and by
this arrangement, the faculty members were
able to present more thorough courses. You
see his foresight? My observation was about
this: That Dr. Stubbs had at that time had the
skill to gain the confidence of the teacher, as a
teacher could then be acquired by the faculty.
In other words, they were working together.
And their work in the classroom became

more skillful by education of the teacher as
well as to the people. These are high points
that I remember.

I remember another thing that Dr. Stubbs
used to do. Wed have assemblies, and there,
he would give us inspirational talks. If I
remember correctly, he said something like
this: “The greatness of the school does not
he in size nor in the equipment, but in the
spirit in which the work of the faculty is done
and the response of the student.” And he
emphasized in that same first thing, too, that
“the true teacher meets and leads responsible
students.” I think maybe the reason that he
was doing this was that he wanted to impress
upon us that, even though we were going to a
small college, we had personal attention and
we could get more out of it if we stayed closer
to our professors.

I can remember when Dr. Stubbs
addressed the student, he would remind
us that he was just the presiding officer. He
wasn’t doing it as president. I can remember
when I was on the faculty and could attend
their meetings, he never rose up and said, “As
president, we’re going to do thus and so.” It
was, “They are here as a group of teachers. I’m
merely the presiding officer,” That didn’t mean
Dr. Stubbs couldn’t assert himself as president.
I think he was trying to create a democratic
approach to this whole organization, and he
impressed upon all of us that we had some
particular things to do. We were interested
in the overall picture, but our biggest interest
should be in our particular department. If
there was trouble on the outside, we”? come
to the president and work it out.

About the time that I came in at the
University, there was another piece of
organization that impressed me. Stubbs
organized the faculty and the standing
committees. The committees could study
pertinent problems and present their findings

My Association with the University of Nevada

to the general faculty, thus saving time to
arrive at the solution.

We find, also, about that time, that we had
a committee on discipline (and I was before
that committee when I was a student), We
had a committee on athletics, library, military
instruction, and university extension. Instead
of appearing before the whole faculty if you
committed a sin, the discipline committee
studied the problem and made a report of
the fact that you came to have a hearing. But
I remember the first time that I was called
up was when the fleet went around the horn.
Some of us skinned out and went down to see
it come in the San Francisco harbor without
leave, and three or four of them were late
coming back. Those of us that got back in
time, we weren’t so guilty, other than leaving
the University without permission, but the
other fellows had to account for it. I can
remember this as though it were yesterday.

These three fellows that stayed over longer,
they had some experience getting back, and
one of them rode in the cow catcher, and the
others were riding brake beams. They related
their experiences. And the one that was in the
cow catcher— apparently the engine hit some
sort of an animal. Well, the committee finally
got so interested in hearing the experiences,
they just said, “Don’t do it again.”

Dr. Stubbs was a man well read, well
educated, and he was dedicated, One of the
first things that he did was to take a trip over
the state and see what the needs were. He
also realized that the people of the state didn’t
realize what a university was for. The farmer
thought it ought to be just for the farmer,
and the mining man just for the mining,
and so on down the line. The method of
communication wasn’t good, so he was the
fellow that originated the Honorary Board of
Visitors. Their expenses were paid to come in
and look over the University. The committee

was chosen from different walks of life. They
would come in. I can remember as though
it were yesterday. They were always here at
commencement time to watch the academic
procession and attend all graduation exercises,
And they did act as fine liaison for us. Now,
that led me to believe—now, when I speak
of myself, I guess others felt the same way,
but I’m telling you what I thought—that,
observing this man, he must’ve recognized
the ability in others, and after he recognized
it, he shaped an organization which would
give the University strong men and a better
field for action. He built a team for the first
time. He realized that they’d have to have a
better physical plant, and he also realized
that they would need more ground. During
his administration, the University did
acquire more ground. (I have told about that
elsewhere.)

And then, the president’s home was
built. I can remember my father discussing
this with his family. He commented that
the president manifested his dedication to
education by putting a lot of money of his
own in the building. They were unable to raise
enough money from donations on the part
of the townspeople to complete the home.
The regents leased a piece of ground on the
campus to Dr. Stubbs on which to erect the
building. It was necessary to place a mortgage
on the building to complete the structure. The
following legislature appropriated enough
money to retrieve the mortgage.

Now, along about that time, because
of Dr. Stubbs’ humility and ability to make
friends, he interested a man by the name of
David Russell, who was a stock man from
Loyalton, California in the Sierra Valley, in
the University, and when Russell died, he left
the residue of his estate after his bills were
paid to the University with George Taylor as
the manager or executor of the estate, and in

Silas E. Ross

the event of his death, the president of the
University. And this money was to be used
to advance the University in things that they
needed. It had to be approved by the Board of
Regents. After Mr. Taylor died, the president
had charge of this particular fund and it went
over from Dr. Stubbs to Hendrick, and then
Hendrick to Dr. Clark. It has an interesting
history which I will tell a little later when I
talk about the Board of Regents.

I remember talking to Dr. Stubbs one
time about ideals, and he preached ideals. He
said, “Silas, you need ideals to form a good
character.” In other words, ideal is the basis
of good character.

During the latter part of—well, the latter
ten years— it’s during the time when I was
at the University, Dr. Stubbs advanced a
number of things. He didn’t do it as president;
he did it as the chairman of the committees
to work on the problem. By virtue of what
he had done before by forming committees
and then setting up the structure with duties
and power overlapping somewhere along the
line, he referred to it later, you see. It gave the
teachers a chance to give additional courses
in the curriculum. For instance, Latin and
French and German were about the only
additional courses available. But they’d
teach German and French until Miss Laura
de Laguna joined the faculty, Some teacher
would have to overlap and teach the subject,
up until that time, the entire curriculum in
all the colleges was pretty much set. And if
you go back over the early records and look
at the curriculum, you will find that there’s a
lot of overlapping, and you’ll find, also, you
had a lot of teaching in agriculture [that] was
being done by the people that were doing
research. That was a little bit contrary to
Washington’s idea of it, but by rearranging
this work load, they were able to offer these
additional courses.

The president also thought it would be a
wise thing to have a general assembly often.
And before the end of my time as a student,
we had a general assembly every week for
an hour. The classes were advanced up and
the general assembly was at eleven o’clock,
we used to drill at eight—eight ‘til nine, The
military wasn’t taught on assembly day. In
these general assemblies, he had different
people talk to us—just from the faculty, on
his own field and the relative field— his own
field and its application, you see—what the
future was, what the limitation is, which I
think gave us all a better knowledge of the
general picture of education. The University
was undoubtedly looking forward. They could
suspect or contemplate what things might be
and what the actual preparation ought to be.
And I used to just love those meetings, and
Dr, Stubbs is the fellow that provided that.

The interesting thing about it was this: Dr.
Stubbs never claimed responsibility for it. He
never said it was his. Slow he might have a
program worked out, and after discussion, it
would be dismissed. He never lost his temper
or anything like that about it. He would say,
“Well, by discussion, we’ve learned things we
didn’t know before.” But he’d bring it up again
sometime. He was the leader.

I can remember that Dr. True did a lot of
research on animal husbandry. And, by the
way, he had limited funds, but by gosh, after
operating on sparse funds, he exhibited down
in California and took all kinds of first prizes.
He wanted to exhibit in Utah, and he did it
twice, and the next time he wanted to exhibit
in Utah, expenses were not available to send
him. ::e made so good that California took
him away from us.

P. B. Kennedy, who was a little Scotsman,
came in this country by way of Canada and
then came into the East and then in here. He
did a lot of research work on clovers of the

My Association with the University of Nevada

world. That research was used as a reference
when he started to breed the alfalfa and grow
it in different kind of climates.

Sammy Doten was then in that
department, and he took up the study of
parasites and became quite specialized in it.
A man by the name of Jacobsen was brought
into the experiment station on agricultural
research. That must have been about 1909. I
remember he was working on plants and the
basis of them, and he particularly took up
alfalfa, And he tried to work out the niters in
fixation in the alfalfa plants. Then he went on
from there into climate work and poisonous
plants, and the poisons in the plants, like wild
parsnip, and so on.

Dr. Maxwell Adams, under whom I
took—as a matter of fact, It worked under
Jacobsen and Adams on a lot of their research
projects when I was a student. Dr. Adams
did research on oils and camphor and other
products which could be obtained from
different plants, thinking that possibly that
hed discover a source for oils out of sagebrush.

It was at that time that Dr. Church was
very interested in meteorology. Then Miss
Wier became active in the Nevada Historical
Society. Then they brought Mr. Scott to the
University to do research on dairying in this
area, and they built a little dairy building for
him. That’s the building that’s in the back of
the campus, down that hill. He was operating
there and he had dairy products; he could
furnish them to the University commons and
dispose of the extra products to merchants of
Reno. They closed him off because we were
competing locally. Not because of any health
problems, or anything like that. Oh, no, no.
Then during Dr. Stubbs’ time, to continue
this agricultural research, he established the
department—it was actually called the state
hygienic department. He brought a man by
the name of Mack to the University. Mack

died soon and his wife went back to Iowa.
His wife had scholarships here for years. Out
of that grew the public service department.
That consisted of the state hygienic laboratory,
and it worked a cross section in specializing
in several branches; one is livestock. In it,
they worked out—they had a problem of
heifers that were slinking calves, and they
found out what caused it and they overcame
it. They also found that the heifers became
sterile with their first calf because of the large
heads of the calf that was born, and that’s an
interesting thing.

During this time, they started the
bureau of mines from state subsidy. Now,
previous to this time, as I understand it,
they had little mining training schools in the
different mining areas. They would get a state
appropriation and then they would have some
mining engineer to teach students assaying,
a little surveying; and a little mineralogy and
petrography, and a little geology. It helped
the necessity of establishing a bureau where
they could do research work and make assays
and so forth for these people at a distance. He
established that bureau in connection with
the Bureau of Mines where they did assays
for these people, and sometimes a mineral
analysis, and they could report it above or
below, not as exact. Of course, that expanded
until it became quite extensive 7 it goes into
physical science, analytical science, and so on.
That was established and it has grown and is
worked in cooperation with the United States
Bureau of Mines on the Nevada campus.
As a matter of fact, it was the work of that
group plus the federal bureau that worked
out the process for the Getchell mines near
Winnemucca. That was finally all organized
in the public service department,

Another thing that came in during Dr.
Stubbs’ time was the Phi Kappa Phi. When
organized, they took in several faculty

Silas E. Ross

members and certain students who had made
the grades to qualify for the insignia—alumni,
doing not necessarily grades, but public
service. This scholastic group grew rapidly
Oh, here’s another thing that is interesting
to me. He’s the only president that I know
of that ever did any teaching. You see, his
background was not only splendid education
here, but he studied in Germany. During my
time, he gave courses, particularly with the
teachers, on the side. He conceived the idea of
this extension business, undoubtedly, because
he familiarized himself with everything that
he could get as far as the agriculture was
concerned. He went out over the state and
conferred with those engaged in farming
and livestock. And he proved two things:
one is that they were bringing the University
to the people and bringing the people closer
to the University; second, he was interested
in building up the agricultural school, and,
of course, out of that grew the extension
division. That extension division came in
during his term at the University,

I think Charles Norcross was the first man
that they appointed extension agent. Charles
was a pretty good writer and he wrote and
distributed many bulletins to those engaged in
agriculture and livestock. The research done
in this work became of benefit throughout the
world. Let’s see, Charles Fleming was chosen
as the head of range management and stock
breeding and developing the type of animal that
would grow fat rapidly on the available range
grasses in the state and could then be fattened on
our own hay and grain and other forage grown
on the farms in Nevada. It was George Wingfield
who helped out on that project by establishing a
farm down in Fallon for experimental purposes.
Out of that grew silage of the things that the
stock couldn’t eat ordinarily.

Now, I never knew of him [Stubbs]
teaching any Greek until I heard from Mr.

Samuel Unsworth, who was the Episcopal
rector in Reno, that he used to teach some
Greek at the University, and that when he
(Unsworth) couldn’t be available, Dr. Stubbs
would teach these classes. So, you see how
broad and how versatile he was? I like what
Doten said about him: “He was a tactful man
and energetic, with evidence of restraint and
patience.” Now, that’s the man.

His tenure here was not without some
controversy. Would I like to balance the record
by describing at least my family’s reaction
or the town’s reaction and participation in
this business with Professors Jackson and
Phillips? That was before my time, hut I know
something about it, because Charlie Brown,
who was named to succeed Jackson, was my
sister Emma’s brother-in-law, You see, in the
beginning, these people were brought in,
and they were professionals in certain fields,
and they operated as individuals. Then they
got up to the time when they were spending
more time on the outside than on the inside.
And they were popular with each other—
that is, a few of them—a little group. Now,
in the case of Dr. Jackson, he did a world of
research, but he arrived at the point where
he needed more time, so he took a leave of
absence. And that was granted, and he asked
for an extension. In the meantime, Charlie
Brown had carried on while he was away. If
I remember correctly, the Regents wouldn’t
grant [the extension], and that caused an
uproar with his friends. Now, Warne Phillips
also had his friends, and he quit on account
of this particular situation.

Well, now, then, we go from there and we
begin to bring in other people. They brought
in George J. Young to succeed Jackson; and
then they brought in Louderback in geology.
George J. Young was a graduate, an honor
graduate of California, but he had had little
real field experience. Some thought that this

My Association with the University of Nevada

would get him down. Then Louderback was
so good in his particular line that he accepted
a position in California, and Dr. Reed took
over. He taught geology and mineral identity
and related subjects. He, too, accepted a better
position elsewhere. W. S. Tanger Smith, a
man whod been with the government in land
surveys and geology, a logical setup to take
over, was elected to succeed Reed. He was a
very quiet man and brilliant with his work,
but modest in meeting the public.

Dr. Stubbs had to assume that
responsibility in making that adjustment. He
was the president. He had to enforce the rule
of the Board; the Board was very definitely
opposed to outside work interfering with
teaching responsibility. That caused quite an
uproar and also became so strong that it was
difficult to get the state to do anything for the
University.

Now, I want to say this, that under George
J. Young’s management, or, rather, heading
the department, it grew rapidly, and he soon
acquired the trust and confidence of the
students. Fe got out and he worked all over the
state to familiarize himself with the mining
activities. He was a good teacher, but he was
a tough one. I can remember when a member
of my class said, “Why do we have to have all
of this math and physics when we have tables
and such things as that to work from?”

Professor Young answered, “Because I
want it, and I’m not going to have and one
of my graduates go out of here as a graduate
mining and civil engineer, and where a project
comes up and he doesn’t have an instrument
to make a survey and knows enough to get a
level and tripod and do it!”

He even took time off and went to
Germany for further study. Germany was the
place where most of the intensive research
was done. Pete Frandsen joined him, and they
spent six months in research.

George J. gave me a lecture one time.
I chewed tobacco and he suspected it, I
remember we had the course under him of
plans and specifications, and he used to call
on us alphabetically, my name was well down
the line, so I put a little tobacco in my mouth,
and darned if he didn’t call on me first. So he
stopped me and he said, “Mr. Ross, speak a
little plainer. I can’t understand you.” So I tried
it again. He said, “Mr. Ross, I said to speak a
little plainer.” So then what am I going to do?
I swallowed the tobacco. I then read again.
Young said, “That’s fine.”

Later, I was in the assaying laboratory and
he said, “When you’re through, I want you to
come up to the office.” And so I went up to
the office. Mr. Young said, “Now, you chew
tobacco, don’t you?”

I said, “Yes, sir.”

He said, “You chew it in class and you
chew it in laboratory?”

I said, “Yes, sir,”

And he said; “You’re damn clever with
it—never saw you spit.” He gave me a lecture
about the use of tobacco. He said, “Now, Mr.
Ross, when you go out in the field and you are
an engineer and you have to make a report
and go before the board of directors, you
shouldn’t use tobacco, because they expect
you to be able to respond immediately and do
nothing that would distract their attention.”
And he said, “Half of the effectiveness of your
presentation is going to be ruined because of
that habit.” So I quit.

He came back [laughing] from Europe;
he used to go down to the laboratory, and all
at once, he’d leave and he’d go up those steps
two or three at a time and lock himself in
his office. He’d come out in fifteen or twenty
minutes. Now, he was good to me. We had a
library and there weren’t a lot of books, but
he had his private library, and he said to Mr.
Gignoux and me that, “Now, any time that you

Silas E. Ross

boys want to go up and use my library, just
come in through the classroom and this door
over here’ll be open. It’ll never be locked.” So
we walked in one day—just thought we’d do
it and see what was going on. We could smell
this tobacco. We went in quietly, and here he
was, sitting at his desk, his feet up here on the
stool, puffing his pipe—you could just cut the
smoke—and reading! So we went over to get
our books and went back to sit down.

He looked up and I said, “Change your
mind, Prof?”

He says, “Yes, as far as that interview is
concerned” [laughter].

Now, to give you some idea of his success,
the University of Minnesota took him away
from us. After I went into the funeral business,
I always watched the programs offered at the
annual conventions, and I never saw anything
very worthwhile until this one year. The
convention was in Cincinnati. They had two
subjects that interested me deeply. One was
skin cleavage (that was given by a surgeon),
and the other was the metallurgy of metals
used in funeral service. I’m so glad I attended
that convention. When the speaker was
lecturing on metallurgy, every once in a while
he’d say, “According to Young,” and he’d read
from script. “According to Young,” and he’d
read from it. And finally, when the lecture was
completed, they announced the speaker was
open to questions and some were asked. And
finally, I rose and I said, “You used a reference
to Mr. Young in your discourse here. What
was his name— first name?”

He said, “George J.”

And I said, “Thank you.” He said, “Did
you know him?”

I said, “Yes. He signed my diploma in
mining engineering at the University of
Nevada.” George J. became famous. Then
they took him back out here to California.
When he retired, he set up a laboratory and

equipment in his basement. He finally got
married.

California took a professor of physics
from us, too—a lot of these people. They took
Cushman. Now, I loved that man, Cushman,
because he showed a real interest in us. Now,
there’s a fellow that was a graduate of Harvard,
if I remember correctly, and he studied in
Germany. Re was teaching English. (And boy,
I remember once when I wrote a [laughing)
description— and those days, the teachers
corrected their own papers. I took the subject
“the shear room” in the SP shops in Sparks.
That’s where they cut these big pieces of metal
and fit them to build the parts of the engines.
I said it was placed in the shear, and they cut
it with a shear. He wrote on the side, “a pair
of scissors.” [laughing] He was thinking in
terms, very definitely, of the person reading
the description. Yet he didn’t know that this
instrument that they were using there was a
shear.) He was a lovable character. I used to
go to him for advice when I wrote a little for
the Student Record. He left for California,
and H. W. Hill was elected by the Regents
to fill Cushman’s class in English. We go on
a little bit further, and Dr. Stubbs got into a
little difficulty because of different opinions
in different sections of the state. One of the
things that he did was to recommend raising
the entrance requirements for entrance to
the University. His recommendation was
approved by the Regents. That affected a lot
of these youths from the high schools and
others that were there. They didn’t realize that
he had this prep school, or university high
school, so that they could take courses in the
prep school and make up deficiencies in their
English, catch up in their history, and a lot of
things like that.

He had a little difficulty one time between
the agriculturists and the academic side.
That was the time that he was director of the

My Association with the University of Nevada

agricultural experiment station. He used to
use some of the agricultural faculty to do
some teaching. As a matter of fact, a fellow
that came in as the head of the cadets—those
fellows all taught some subject; they all taught
these fill-in subjects. He was the director
of the experiment station. But he had the
heads of these departments. They would
use those to fill out certain divisions of the
course in agriculture. He would use, instead
of agricultural economics, the University
department of economics to teach the course.
The agriculturists believed that it should be
taught by a specialist. Many of those things
came up. Uncle Sam got into the picture and
said, “You’ve got too much to do. You’ve got to
appoint a director of the experiment station.”

So Dr. True was appointed. When he
was appointed, he reorganized that whole
department. He organized the experimental
work into regular hours and teachers’
assignments into periods. You look back on
the school of agriculture and find maybe they
had one or two graduates in any one year.
And these people could take that course.
Then they were sharpened. There was a
farm—caused a little trouble.Then the next
thing was the purchase of the University
farm out on South Virginia Road. There were
people who didn’t think it was right, but it was
purchased anyhow. Then, of course, I think it
was doing pretty well. Dr. True resigned and
accepted a position in the California school
of agriculture and animal husbandry.

I was a Regent for twenty-five years, and
as such, I tried to learn everything I could
about the University—even of the survey
corners, of all separate properties. I know
that we could go up to the legislature and
get most anything through that had to do
with agriculture. But when it came to the
University side, and academic, requested
budgets were cut, even in the matter of health.

Now, why? Possibly because so many people
that were in the legislature were definitely
interested in agriculture (and that covered
a pretty broad field) and mining. The other
things didn’t seem important.

In that agricultural layout, you could
teach certain music, but the only music that
you could teach at one time (that’s when Miss
Denny was there) was enough to teach the
lady, the teacher, to play a few chords, and the
like of that, and sing songs. Nothing beyond
that. Nothing in the matter of going out on the
road and travel, and so forth. Charlie Haseman
was the one that solved that. 3e organized a
glee club. They financed themselves and they
took these trips throughout the state and
presented musical entertainment.

Oh, there were several of the things. The
only language you could teach was Latin at
that time [as] specified in the government
appropriation. Dr. Stubbs used to allocate that
money and he’d subsidize these agricultural
teachers to teach a particular subject. You
see, he had a lot of teachers assigned in this
manner. Well, a change was made, which was
all right. Another thing that caused a little
trouble was this: that Dr. Stubbs was a man of
high morals and he took a stand against this
liberal setup. I think the records will show that
he appeared before the legislature. He also
appeared before the downtown [gambling and
saloon] people. I know at one time, he was
successful in getting the downtown people
to not admit the University students, or if
they came in, not permit them to play, or to
drink. You see, that was this second boom we
had, the early days of Tonopah and Goldfield,
and all at once, now, Reno began to crow.
And these people, the liberal element, were
in there, and because he didn’t take a neutral
stand, that caused them to be spiteful.

Now, during the time that I was there,
I’ve seen Dr. Stubbs go to the legislature. He’d

Silas E. Ross

present his case and do it beautifully. Hed
have others there to listen. I never heard him
get angry, talk back, or anything like that.
Here it was, and if it didn’t pass, he didn’t
blame anybody but himself. He’d say, “Maybe
we presented it wrong. We’ll go back.” He was
persistent. He’d go back until he’d get it.

Oh, my, you should see the support that
he got at one time when these people of Reno
contributed money to put up a flagpole. They
contributed towards getting him a resident
home on the campus. But, you see, that group
knew this area was small as compared to the
liberals that had come in here plus those that
had come in from Goldfield, Tonopah, and
the other mining areas.

It is my opinion—but I’d better put it this
way. It seems to me that a man who doesn’t
make any mistakes and doesn’t create an
enemy someplace isn’t a man of decision. I
think in terms of what my father told me: “If
you don’t understand anything, you go to a
man that you think’s an authority. When you
ask your question, ask it intelligently. If he
doesn’t answer you to your satisfaction, tell
him that you don’t quite understand, and ask
the question again. If you still are not satisfied,
reframe the question. And then, if you’re not
satisfied, you have a right to your opinion, but
I doubt not his right to his opinion.

You’ll always find—and I’ve seen them
come and go—there are those people who are
against most everything. They’re against the
president of the University; they’ll condemn
him. But you’ll feel, as I do, the majority of
good people were interested in education,
developing something for their children at
the present and expanding the good. They’re
always for the University.

I want to tell you, I’ve taken some of the
worst spankings I ever took in my life—I
mean lip spankings—when I was a Regent,
when I appeared before some legislative

committees. And if it wasn’t for the University,
I—I’d’ve slapped somebody down. I would’ve
cussed them out, but I just figured this! what
father had said, the example that I thought Dr.
Stubbs left—the thing for me to do was to take
it, say nothing at the time, but try to improve
my presentation at a future time.

Dr. Brown had trouble; Dr. Jones had
trouble; and Dr. Stubbs had trouble; Hendrick
had his troubles; Clark had plenty of his;
Hartman had trouble; Moseley had trouble;
Love had trouble, and Love was here only a
short time. Minard Stout had trouble. Every
one of those things could’ve been avoided if it
weren’t for prejudice. “You see what I mean?
People getting together and say, “Well, as long
as I’m in there, now”—spiteful. Of course, I
had one man say something to me when we
appeared before a legislative committee and
a matter of mathematics came up. He saw
that we were asking for an increase in salary
for teachers in the mathematic department,
and he said, “How much does a professor of
mathematics get? What was his salary? What
does he do?” We gave him the answer, he
said, “I’d be glad to take that job for less than
that. I’ve taught mathematics.” And I said,
“What are you doing now?” His answer was,
“working for the WPA.”

You find those things, and then you
sometimes find people that should know
better and should be for the University are
against it because the University wouldn’t
do what they wanted. And they do you a
lot of harm. Then there’s always publicity
hounds. Then again, you’ll always find many
a reporter that’ll tell the truth and would
give all the facts, and others’ll slant it just
one way. Summarizing, then, Dr. Stubbs
took over; he had a good nucleus, and I’ve
outlined pretty well many things that he had
done. And certainly, he rode upon what was
down here [gesture] and finally got rid of

My Association with the University of Nevada

the prep department by increasing interest
in the public schools and the high schools
throughout the state, because the University
was able to supply through their prep school
help there in subjects that they might not
have gotten elsewhere. They had increased,
under Dr. Stubbs, the interest in high school
training, and such things as that. So we didn’t
need the preps any more. The student body
was large enough to get by without getting
the preps in there.

Now, as far as I know, there was never
any extensive legislative investigation during
Browns or Jones’ administration. But politics
had crept into it, so—. Well, I’ll put it down this
way. The first full inspection and investigation
of the University was done then during Dr.
Stubbs’ administration. I recall that because it
was during my senior year in college. I think
that I in right when I make this statement:
they did have the inspection and investigation,
and they found that there was no sound basis
for the charges’. But the thing that brought it
up was the resignation of Jackson and some
other people that were identified with him
and interference on the part of two or three of
the faculty within the administration for their
own personal viewpoint. We also note that
some of the Regents at that particular time
were entertaining discussions with members
of the faculty and downtown people, and
we found that there was an increase of the
individual departments submitting separate
budgets for their departments, which was
not an—well, it’s conflicting with the general
budget that was approved by the Board.
However, the Regents at that time had sent
out a policy relative to people working on the
outside. The Regents set up that regulation
that I quoted before, that they should teach,
and the administration should be handled
by administrators. Yet now and then, you
would find people—downtown citizens, some

Regents, and faculty members confusing the
legislature by rumors, and such things as that.
I always felt that this investigation that they
made was fair, because as I remember it, the
press said that it was complete. The thing that
interested me and made me so happy was the
fact that there was no basis for this charge.

But let us now just review a little bit.
That did Dr. Stubbs do? He increased the
departments in the University and appointed
a head of the different departments, who
were responsible to him—or the vice
president, when he was out of town. Of
course, the conditions were different then
than they are now, but it was a small faculty.
I think, in view of the fact that they had a
debating society under Jones, they’d learn
to work together. Dr. Stubbs was able to
contact the Mackays and get them interested
in the institution; he was able to get more
federal help; he was very active in attempting
to improve the moral condition that was
in Reno at that particular time. He stood
firm. He was invited to address president’s
organizations representing the university
presidents and agricultural experiment
stations on the future and future direction
and ultimate, I would say, completion of the
elements in the departments, and keeping
the departments strong—not reaching out to
become a graduate school, but well founded
in the subjects taught to earn a Bachelor’s
degree.

Archer W. Hendrick

After Dr. Stubbs’ death, Lewers was acting
president. Mind you, the Regents didn’t call
him vice president; he was acting president.
The Regents appointed assistants to him,
made up of the three deans. If I remember
correctly, the arts and science was a man by
the name of Watson, and Scrugham was in

Silas E. Ross

engineering, and I think Charlie Knight was
agriculture. These take me back a long time!

During that particular time, the Regents
took over the business affairs of the University
in an effort to reconstruct the finances. I
was told that this was necessary because
the appropriations that they received from
the federal government for the agricultural
experimental work were taken care of. But
many of the station people did teaching. Many
of the people that were on the regular teaching
staff taught in agriculture.

One of the first things that the Regents did
in order to get the finances straightened out
was to hire Charles Gorman, a certified public
accountant. Gorman was a native Nevadan
and followed railroading for a number of
years. He had been a telegrapher and was
then employed in the bank in Eureka. He
was familiar with banking and finance and
he knew money. They imported him to come
in and set up a good accounting system so
that they knew how to keep the government
money by itself and the state appropriations
by itself. If there were contributions for a
department, to keep that by itself. He set up
the requisition [system] and how it had to be
done. He had very little help, but he did get it
squared away. Now, Charlie really developed
the system of accounting and the matter of
the different funds—particularly the state
funds and the federal funds. I can remember
very definitely when I was still close to the
University Regents, Dr. Hosea E. Reid talked
to me and some other people. He, being a
businessman, said that he’d straighten out
the financial structure so everybody knew
what he had. Up until that particular time,
if a department chairman took anything
from the general fund, or wanted to send in
a requisition, it was paid. There had been no
definite allocation of department funds. They
could be overdrawn or underdrawn.

The Regents were looking for a new
president, and I can remember their saying that
they really needed a man who had experience
in education but who was primarily a
businessman. They figured that the University
was a business institution and that that was
more important than the experience he had
in teaching, an administrator. They finally
located this man, Hendrick. He was a graduate
of a Canadian university I think it was in
Toronto, He’d had considerable business
experience, and also some teaching, and had
in the business field administrative experience
which indicated ability. In getting him, the
Regents had depressed the emphasis on the
business aspects of the entire institution.

Now, when President Hendrick came to
us, that’s the first thing that he undertook to do,
was to go over this particular project. Without
much inquiry, he made certain studies and
then he came in with recommendations
and also policies. These were approved and
he was told to go ahead on it. What those
policies were, I don’t know. But we do know
that the policies that he suggested were
approved. These stressed the financial and
the business approach to the problem. In
other words, policies were not necessarily
adaptable to the conduct of an educational
institution. I think that move probably stirred
up anxiety on the part of the faculty, I would
say the conservative members of the faculty.
A large number of the citizens who had been
interested in the University, they began—
well, their friendship sort of ceased and the
students were concerned as to whether their
education and work would give them what
they wanted under this plan,

One of the first things he did (that]
caused considerable concern was his attitude
towards the Agricultural Experiment Station.
Apparently, he didn’t look into the background
of this division. Maybe he considered it from

My Association with the University of Nevada

a business point of view, He thought that the
work that they were doing was not applicable
to practical work in the field of agriculture.
He then reviewed the work in the experiment
station himself from the station personnel. He
suggested that the whole project list, all of it,
be discontinued immediately and that other
projects be substituted, and those projects
were things that he thought of himself, That,
then, caused more anxiety on the part of
the agricultural experiment people, as well
as the farmers in the state. Whenever the
experiment station decided on a particular
project, it had to outline this project and show
the purpose of the project and the benefit
it would be towards agriculture, He was
apparently not familiar with the fact that those
projects, any one of them, had to be submitted
to the Agricultural Experiment Station in
Washington, and they were not permitted
to go ahead on it until they had the approval
of the project. Of course, the Agricultural
Experiment Station didn’t approve of all of his
suggestions, but they had approved of what
was being done by the local station. Then the
agricultural experiment station representative
came out from Washington and looked
into the particular projects. They became
concerned. Well, The got squared -away on
that because he discovered his error. Well, it
wound up by discarding some of the projects
with the approval of the Washington division.
Undoubtedly, the next report that came in
from them on this research—they might’ve
said, “Discontinue it.” We don’t know. Then
they worked up other projects and started to
work from there.

Oh, all in that faculty were very upset.
There was S. B. Doten, there was the dean of
agriculture, Charles Knight, the head of the
experiment station who was Dr. (Gordon
True, and all of the subordinates that they had
working in the field. Now, if you recall, I said

to you that we would have to credit Dr. Stubbs
with the idea of extension work.

Some of these people had come here
specifically because of Nevada’s peculiar
problems. Well, that is right. :rue came in
because of the things that he thought he could
do in the matter of cattle—animal husbandry.
And he did a whale of a job and he exhibited
at state fairs down in California. Gosh, he
came out with prize after prize! And then he
decided that he wanted to show in Utah, but
he didn’t have any money.

P. B. Kennedy came in; he was interested
also in alfalfa and irrigation. Now(I cooperated
with him on it. Kennedy wanted to know if he
could grow the different pines from seed. He
went up around Gardnerville and that area
and obtained a lot of the seeds and started
them in little boxes, The seeds germinated but
soon died. Finally, he came over to the chem
department and assigned me to it. I went out
with him to that area and I took samples of
soil in different areas and around some of
the different trees and brought the samples
to the laboratory there. Then I analyzed the
soil that he was using. I found, right off the
reel, that all of the soils had a lot of turpentine
in them, and the soil here didn’t. So we tried
the experiment of putting a little turpentine
in local soil and keeping the soil moist. After
it germinated, it grew a little bit and then
it stopped. That presented a few problems,
because this was a clay soil, and if you didn’t
keep it moist, it’d cake, and ft you kept it too
moist, the tree’d die. So I went back out to the
place and made a study of the area. Kennedy
was with me. He took some of this forest floor,
you know what it is, don’t you? It’s the mat
that lays around under the trees. It’s made up
of pine needles piled on top of the other, and
finally, you get down to that black substance
that’s very coarse, So, I brought that in and
checked it. We used the black material and

Silas E. Ross

got along pretty well. We found that, even
then, the clay would eventually overcome
the turpentine. We then brought in a lot of
needles and mixed them with the clay soil. As
a result, the trees began growing, and that’s
where all of these pines you see around town,
up at the cemetery, and the parks grew, out of
this particular project.

It was a lot of fun—a lot of fun. Of course,
I think I had a little bit of an advantage
over the average chemist, because Father
was a practical farmer and he did a lot of
experimenting. For instance, he was the first
one to grow alfalfa on a clay soil. He brought
in the first maple trees, put in the first bored
well, and things like that.

Now, here’s an interesting thing. Many years
afterwards, we purchased property up at Lake
[Tahoe], and Mr. Phillip Lehenbauer, who was
the head of that department at that time (we
were having a little trouble with our trees), and
I went up to the Lake and he asked me why I
raked out this forest floor all over there. Well, I
said that I raked it out for fire protection, and
that I thought by irrigating, I could take care of
the trees. Well, he told me I made a mistake, and
the trouble was this: you get down to this forest
floor and it’s so fine and was on the sidehill, the
water would hit there and run down and run off,
instead of seeping into the ground. Then he dug
up some roots of some of these small trees and
showed that where we got into the caliche, there
was no tap root, re got in on open soil, the tap
root was longer, and the side [branches] were
spread quite a bit. That’s the reason we lost so
many pines up there in this last storm.

Now, then, if I recall correctly, Mr. Doten,
who worked as a student with Walter McNab
Miller, emphasized the work that Miller
did here. And it’s really, really worthwhile
reading. This fellow, Miller—gosh he went all
over the board. He knew all [about] growing
vegetation.

Another thing came up during Dr. Stubbs’
administration, towards the end of it, was that
big movement in mining and gambling. He
took a very positive stand against it, and many
of the people of the city of Reno and the area
stood by him. The place became pretty liberal,
hard to keep the students out of the joints.
Dr. Stubbs, I think, finally did very well. He
gained cooperation from the liberal element,
and as far as they could go. Yet he was for
Prohibition and not gambling. Dr. Hendrick
just brushed that off his sleeve. In other words,
that wasn’t important to him. And that feud
caused antagonism. That caused criticism by
certain groups, because he seemed unwilling
to engage actively against what they called evil
force. They thought that that was a backward
step for the administration. But I do know—
and I was not a member of the city council at
that particular time, but I was close to the city
council—that Hendrick finally got together
with them, with the city administration, and
then with the owners of these places, and
I think he received cooperation. He tried
to keep the students out of the saloons and
the gambling. Now, I remember that when I
was on the council, and that’s when we had
Prohibition, too, part of the time. Then a
student was twenty-one years old, he was a
citizen, and it was hard to keep him out. But
they would try to not let them play and not
serve them drinks. But if the young fellow
asserted himself, “Here, I’m twenty-one. I’m a
voter,” there wasn’t much more they could do.

Well, after the experience that President
Hendrick had in the beginning with the
agricultural setup and all that hullabaloo,
he did become interested, and upon the
recommendation of Mr. Doten (and I think
he was the director of the experiment station
at that time), they established, got money for
a veterinary control service. That grew and
continued, and we still have it. Then about

My Association with the University of Nevada

that time, they established in the experiment
station a commission of range forage and
management. They brought in Charlie
Fleming. He traveled all over the state. And
Charlie had a marvelous background for his
work in Nevada.

Then during that particular period, they
established the agricultural extension service.
Dr. Stubbs, you see, when he was director,
he handled a lot of management himself. He
did some of this extension work. But they
finally established this particular division,
and Charlie Norcross, who was a pretty
good publicity man, was named the head of
it. Those were the accomplishments, I think.

About 1915—and it might have been
1917—the legislature provided funds for the
purchase of the farm and the construction
of the agriculture building on the University
of Nevada campus. Mr. Hendrick was linked
with this particular phase. The issue came up
before the legislature, and I think that Hosea
E. Reid, the Regent, told me that President
Hendrick recommended that the Regents buy
this farm and erect barns, corrals, purchase
stock, and suggested that it be financed by a
bond issue and he provided a way of funding
it. He thought that the sale of the products
from this farm would be income from sales.
The income was put into a sinking fund to
take care of the bond.

I have a note here that, in addition to
purchasing that farm, :Hendrick suggested
that they purchase top breeds of cattle, horses,
sheep, and poultry for experimental purposes.
That is history, and if I remember correctly,
Dr. Reid, who was the chairman of the board,
gave me this information.

At that time, which would be 1916—
probably T6—all of these activities and the
mistrust brought Governor Boyle in the
operation, He used his influence and brought
out representatives from Washington* to go

over this situation. They sent a committee out
here to investigate this whole problem. The
Federal Bureau of Education also came out
and made a survey of the problem.

Did I get involved in that investigation
in any way? No. I stayed clear out of this
Hendrick problem. I left the University during
that time, and I figured that when I was
through with a place, I should not come back
or in any way interfere with the University
problems. The only place I stayed was in the
athletic department, coaching on the side,
and that was on my own time and my own
expense.

Well, I have this note that the report showed
a lack of confidence in the administration and
an atmosphere of doubt and suspicion on
the part of faculty members, students, and
townspeople, and the parents of the students.
The report was very complimentary of the
stand that the Board of Regents took to get
Charlie Gorman in here as comptroller.
Charlie had to work pretty hard to accomplish
his assignment. When Mr. Hendrick came
in, he suggested a new system of accounting.
When Charlie came in (I know this from
talking to Charlie because I worked closely
with him when I was on the Board of Regents
and he showed me the confusion), he got the
finances set up in such a way that he had the
federal funds by themselves, state funds by
themselves, and contributions by themselves,
He had outlined who could draw on these
funds. He set up a budget, an estimated
budget, and then when they received the
appropriations, he prorated them and then
[was able to] draw on the appropriation. But
when they spent all of their appropriation,
they were out of money.

*S ee Education Bulletin, 1917.

Silas E. Ross

But Mr. Hendrick suggested an entirely
new setup. He didn’t want any help from
Gorman’s office, but he wanted this new setup.
He immediately placed Gorman in charge of
the dining hail, and I don’t know what all.
Now, the result of this situation was Charlie
resigned. When this situation developed in
the next investigation (and that was another
criticism they had of the administration; it
was something set up on maybe a big budget
plan, the whole shooting works this way, for
the minimum amount of work), well, Charlie
resigned and they appointed a new man, and
he came in to handle the problem. He was
not familiar with the old system. That was
explained to him, but he didn’t understand
the new method of accounting recommended
by the administration. It hadn’t been set up in
detail. So that was confusion again.

I think I might mention politics. Politics
did come into it. I don’t know whether the
session’s ‘15 or ‘17, but I think 1917, the
legislature was concerned, and they changed
the setup for the Board of Regents and they
extended the Regents’ terms from four and
two to ten years. Over a period of time, they’d
elect one Regent every biennium. They did
that in order to have enough people on the
Board to carry on continuity of policies and
who were acquainted with members of the
legislature. That is the year that it became
political. There was quite a battle on. That’s
when the “ABC Board” was elected. They
had a majority vote. You know what that is?
Well, Mr. James E Abel, Mrs. Edna C. Baker,
and Judge Ben Curler, Jr. were elected. Mrs.
Baker was the first woman to serve as member
of the Board of Regents in the history of the
University. She was also a graduate of the
University of Nevada. Abel was a graduate
of the University. Curler was a lawyer and a
native Nevadan. Mrs. Edna Baker, by the way,
was a Republican [laughing]. According to

the Political History of Nevada, she received
a majority of 1,106 votes; and then for a long
term, Abel won by 791 votes; and Curler’s
majority was 422; and Charlie Henderson, a
former Regent, was defeated. And you know,
Mrs. Baker defeated a strong man, I. H. Kent.
That’s November, 1916, they were elected.

I wouldn’t know how to title Hendrick’s,
shall we say, new idea of administration when
he put his plan in. He resigned. He went to
California, entered into the banking business,
and became an expert on agriculture. It would
seem that while he made a grave mistake
which made him unpopular to begin with in
connection with agriculture, he learned in
the meantime that he was wrong, and he did
enough work in the things that came in during
that time to get a pretty good background, at
least in agriculture.

I know that during the time that we
were getting portraits of all the University
presidents—that was fun. You know how we
did that? We had great cooperation from him.
We asked him to let us know what he’d been
doing, and he sent us a lot of information to
show that he had made good in that line. This
was a transition period.

Sometime between the end of Dr. Stubbs’
administration and the early part of Hendrick’s
administration, there was a big hullabaloo over
the central heating plant as to what type of heat
you should use, and so on. The big argument
was over whether they should use hot water or
steam. They had all kinds of advice on steam
heat and also on hot water heat. But then Mr.
Walter E. Pratt, when he was chairman of the
board, decided that he was some sort of an
engineer and an accountant, le knew quite a
bit about heating. The project was turned over
to Pratt, He installed this hot water system.
The big problem was circulation, to get the
water out over the system and then get it back.
The source was installed somewhere near the

My Association with the University of Nevada

central heating plant, and water circulated
through a system of pipes over the campus.
Manzanita Hall was the end of the heating
circulation. The water was then pumped
back to the source of heating. If you could
read the minutes of the Board of Regents at
that particular time, you could obtain more
information on the details.

As far as I know, there had never been a
map made of that circulation system of where
the takeoff places were and so forth. But Carl
Horn was on the job when it was done, and
he remembered every one of those places.
Sometime during the Clark administration
and before I was appointed to the Board, the
Regents hired Professor H. P. Boardman of the
civil engineering department to make a map
of the system and show the outlets, with the
understanding that he would do it during his
spare time and in the summers. He did make
the map, but it was not finished until after I was
on the Board. I thought it was quite important
that we have this map, but we had to depend
a lot on the memory of Carl Horn and go out
and dig in that particular place to [laughing]
find the trench, and so on. But it was just one
of those things. There must have been a map to
begin with for the people to work from, but it
had been lost. Dr. Boardman finished the map.

At that particular time, Lincoln and
Manzanita halls had independent heating
plants, but they were too small. I can remember
the students on the third floor darn near froze,
and the upperclassmen made the freshmen
of Lincoln Hall appropriate wood from the
back of the old dining rooms, which was back
of Stewart Hall. The dining room was in the
basement. When Dick Brown wasn’t around,
they’d carry up enough wood to put in the
fireplace on the first floor of Lincoln Hall.
They would lay the fireplace and start the fire
before Dick’d come around to the study room
so it would warm up the area and the third

floor fellows could come down and study. I
have told that story elsewhere.

William Wagner was a plumbing and
heating expert in the firm of Beebe and
Wagner. He was one of the foremost heating
engineers in our area. When I was on the
board, we used him a lot to advise us on this
problem. The criticism of the old system was
this: the rooms would get cold, beginning in
the afternoon, too cold in the evenings. That’s
when night classes were still on, and in many
of the buildings they had potbellied stoves.

So, all in all, while Mr. Hendrick’s
term as president was short, and there was
controversy, those few years that he was here
laid a splendid background. In other words,
they opened up the avenues of inefficiency
and of doubt to make things more efficient. It’s
interesting to take these things that all came
in towards the end of his administration or
were recommended by him that built that
agricultural setup again. He missed it, and
especially the business side of it, because the
sale of stock and other products couldn’t pay
for bond redemption. I don’t know of any new
faculty men that he brought in at the time. If
I could see the old catalogs, I could probably
tell you. There were changes, of course. But I
think that most of those changes when men
left were filled by men in the department
until Dr. Clark came in and got the feel of the
thing and the University began to expand. The
demands were greater. If I recall this correctly,
the attendance better than doubled between
the time that Dr. Stubbs went on that leave
of absence and then his year at home and the
latter part of the Hendrick [administration] —
better than fifty percent, and in all the schools.

Walter E. Clark

When was it, 1917, Hendrick resigned?
Yes. Again, Lewers sort of carried on. The

Silas E. Ross

first of 1917, the “ABC Board of Regents”,
sort of decided the type of man they wanted.
As I remember, they said, “We want a man
who’s had a lot of experience in teaching,
who also had a background in finance, who
made friends easily, and was also familiar with
activities other than his own specialty.” I know
this went out when they were looking for a
president. So the regents selected Mr. Abel,
who had the time, to go out and interview
certain of these people that might be available
or might be available. I remember that he
traveled a lot in different sections of the
United States.

Oh, yes, one other thing. The Regents
were impressed with What Dr. Stubbs had
done in the matter of carrying the University
to the people. I think I mentioned the fact that
he got out and did these things. They wanted
the type of man who would get out and meet
the Nevada citizens.

There’s another thing at that particular
time. Now, I remember this quite vividly,
because I was not—I had left the University,
you see, the last of 1914, and I knew something
about the situation on campus. Yes, I was there
as graduate manager and athletic coach for
a number of years. This impressed me. The
Regents had a man, who, when Dr. Clark
was elected, [from] his experience in the East
(and I think it’s the City College of New York),
had shown his ability to win the support of
the faculty as well as the students, and also
satisfy the Regents. I mentioned the office
personnel during that year. During That year,
I don’t know whether you knew Professor
Lewers or not, but he was a country boy,
self-educated. He had the ability to reconcile
differences, and in a quiet way explain to the
faculty that they had to work together. And
really, by the time that Dr. Clark arrived, I
think that [by my] being close to the student
body, that the student body was pretty well

satisfied with the type of man that the Regents
had selected, well, the attitude, the harmony,
the friendliness among the faculty had been
restored. That was due to the quiet way in
which Lewers was handling the problems and
suggesting things that they were going to do.
It had sort of been molded, and their [new]
objective seemed to be clear. So when Clark
came here, that’s what he had in his favor. The
four years preceding this date had caused a lot
of this division and dissention.

One of the first things that Dr. Clark had
to put up with when he came here was the
fact that the United States had entered the
war, and the things that he would like to have
done immediately probably were somewhat
handicapped because of the declaration of
war. In the meantime, before Clark arrived,
they’d started the idea of building the military
barracks at the University, and older members
of the faculty that hadn’t enlisted plundered
in to help carry on. They, themselves, taught
some of the military members a lot about
engineering in both wood and iron, and
participated in other lectures. That barracks
was put up in no time, and also, a mess
hall. When Dr. Clark arrived, the process
was not completed and he had to meet that
situation. Fe threw himself into it with great
vigor. When he found this situation, he also
found that enrollment dropped considerably
and some of the faculty had gone into the
service. He only had a few people to deal with
on both sides. Such was the problem facing
Dr. Clark. The barracks was constructed to
accommodate two hundred select men for
military duty. The shops in the colleges of
engineering were turned over to the military
for instruction. All the faculty members gave
instruction to recruits.

At the end of the war, there were two or
three crisis periods. The enrollment increased
at the University [then], as well as in the high

My Association with the University of Nevada

schools of the state. During That time, when
we had the military and the war was on,
Dr. Clark went out over the state and made
contact in person with people of the state. I
guess he must’ve believed the war would be
over and they would have this situation. But
he tried to impress upon the people in the
state what the University could do for them,
and also, what the high schools could do for
the University. He was the first man that I
remember to emphasize that they could get
a free education, and to also emphasize the
advantage of a small University and small
classes so that they could get the personal
attention of the head of the department.

Now, Dr. Clark disappointed some people
when he looked over the situation. I think one
of the first things he did after he got organized
when the war was over (had to do) with this
increased enrollment. I’ve made this known.
He limited attendance upon out-of-state
students, that he would only have a certain
number. In other words, he recommended
restricted enrollment, and among those
was a limited number from those from the
out-of-state side and the requirement that
they should pay a tuition fee. That caused a
little dissension at the time, but after all, the
Regents supported him. it worked out as it
should work out.

He also, along about that time, asked for
another restriction. That was to restrict the
courses to the undergraduate division—no
graduate courses beyond the AB or BS. At
that time, we had a school of liberal arts
and then we had one in general science;
and one in engineering which had mining,
mechanical, electrical, and civil engineering
in it. We had the normal school, agriculture,
and home economics. As I remember, he was
the first to emphasize this: “that if we had
strong undergraduate work, those people
who graduated from Nevada and who wanted

to go to graduate school would be accepted
upon application because of the strong
undergraduate course they had.”

At that time [the University was] stressing
medicine, law, dentistry, forestry. They
had to be in the school of agriculture, and
at that time, they were talking a lot about
reforestation, It worked in pretty well with
the plan that he had about the extension work
that Dr. Stubbs had started,

He also did this during his first period
here. He conceived the idea of the oath,
feeling, I think as he did, that it would make
the graduates more loyal. And those familiar
with the oath, whether they were graduates
or not, would realize their responsibility to
the University and try to build up a spirit and
affection for and pride in their University.

Now, when Dr. Clark came here, the
money that was obtained from the state was
by appropriation. I think this “ABC board”
was instrumental in changing the law.
Instead of making a direct appropriation, the
legislature levied a percentage of the state tax
to go to the University. It seemed to me that
the legislature of 1920 probably did this direct
tax. They created a levy for operating expense,
a levy for public service, and a levy for
permanent construction. And they legalized
the tuition charge. I think those were the
things that happened at that particular time.
Now, the public service division, of course,
was in effect; Dr. Clark took it over. (I think I
mentioned that under Dr. Stubbs we brought
in a man by the name of Mack to start that
public service thing.)

Now, just about this time—anyhow, it’s
after they obtained this direct levy—it was
seen that they would be able to increase the
faculty and also give additional offerings in
the departments that had been recognized.
I said that they had these four divisions,
and they were limited as to what courses

Silas E. Ross

they could offer—maybe straight history, or
something like that, but they added a little
political science, and then, in the normal
school, they rationalized that. When they had a
normal school, they were using the prep school
and the others to do most of these things,
and they had a little teacher training. Now, I
may not be covering this as I should, but as I
remember it, these offerings were journalism
to the department of English and political
science to history. Then they put in some
economics; that was Dr. Clarks strong field.
Then in literature, they increased. When I was a
student, they only had one professor of English
to carry the load. So they increased the English
staff and gave them additional offerings.

Wow, the latter part of Dr. Stubbs’
administration, he recommended that they
have a University senate, and everything had
to be finally submitted to them before they
came to the president. Well, that was abolished
after Dr. Clark came. I don’t know, maybe it
wasn’t abolished during Dr. Hendrick’s time,
because it was existent but not in use. That was
the first time that all faculty members could
sit in on the faculty meeting. Also, about that
time, between 1918 and 1920, they created
faculty committees. I suppose that if there was
a question under it in arts and science, they
would appoint three members of the arts and
sciences as a faculty committee to represent
that department; engineering the same way.
Each one of the departments’d have one on
this committee, and that would resolve many
difficulties in that department.

I don’t remember just when, out it
was sometime during the early Clark
administration that the matter of accrediting
high school students had caused some
difficulty on the part of the public, or the areas
[from which the students came].

1917—I think—it could’ve been 1915,
but I think it was 1917—the legislature

appropriated funds for the new agricultural
building. I don’t think that was completed
until after poisonous plants (this was during
the Clark administration), and they imported
Charlie Fleming, who turned out to be a very
strong man, When Dr. Mack died (now, this
is in the public service layout), Dr. Edward
Record was working under him. He was a
veterinarian, and he was made the head of
the department of veterinary science and state
hygienic laboratory. Dean Sibley was brought
in to succeed Scrugham.

The University was offering a course in
what was called domestic science during Dr.
Stubbs’ administration. Miss Bardenwerper
was the head of it about the time of her
retirement. Dr. Clark created the department
of home economics. This broadened out,
and he brought in a Miss Lewis from the
northwest area, and she organized that
department. They brought in Dr. B. F.
Chappelle to head the language department.
Before that, we had Miss de Laguna teaching
French, and Dr. Church, Latin. Chappelle
organized that department and it grew to
quite a number of people, so that more foreign
languages could be taught. I mentioned the
English department, didn’t I? I didn’t mention
this, though; I think it was in 1921 that Dr.
Clark was able to persuade the legislature to
give them additional money to increase the
salaries. That’s the time when he added these
additional courses. They were just marvelous.

Oh, yes. Another thing I almost forgot to
tell you. On this accreditation basis, he finally
got the Regents to agree on accrediting the
schools on the basis of the success of their
graduates in the different courses. Some
students applied for entrance to the University
without knowledge of all the fundamentals,
here’s an illustration. One young man came
in on scholarship from the press association.
He then received an appointment to West

My Association with the University of Nevada

Point, or one of the military academies, and
the one thing that he flunked was English,
and he couldn’t go back. So he came back
and took “dummy” English. Now, going back
a little bit further, to Cushman, what he had
in mind, they found the same thing in math.
So Cushman followed through on this, and
before he left and Dr. H. U. Hill took his place,
this department was pretty well organized.
Then when Dr. Hill came in, they offered
an additional course to the young people
to bring them up in their English, the same
with mathematics, and so on. They didn’t
get any credit for it, excepting the entrance
credits, but they had plenty of time to do
these electives.

Now, also, Dr. Clark increased the
offerings. That opened up the elective field
to all of the students. In the early days,
practically everything was prescribed and
there wasn’t much election.

Now, I want to get back to this talk
about junior college a little bit later. Let me
mention some of the things that happened on
campus that I can remember. They had the
new agricultural building, also the education
building. The mines experiment station was
brought here; that’s the one with the federal
Bureau of Mines. It was erected immediately
in the rear of the Mackay School of Mines
so there would be cooperation. The Mackay
Science building housed the departments of
chemistry, physics, and mathematics, and
there was an alteration in the new electrical
building. I don’t know just when it was built,
but I know that Scrugham got the money
to build it. It wasn’t built at the time that I
graduated, but it had to be shortly thereafter.
They had alterations in the building during
that time. There were changes made in the
library building; now, that’s the old building
where the school of journalism has been.
They made some alterations in the basement

of that. There were changes made in both
Manzanita and Lincoln Hall. That little
hospital that used to be between Lincoln Hall
and the old gym, that was remodeled. Then
the dining hail that used to be in the basement
of Stewart Hall was moved over there in the
rear of Manzanita, but it was not large enough.
It had been built while I was in college. But it
wasn’t large enough and it was improved and
additions made during that time. Now, this
was funding, you see, that came first, by this
ad valorem tax thing.

Now, by just looking this up, during the
time that Walter Pratt was on the Board of
Regents (I think that he was elected first in
1912), they discussed the matter of a central
heating plant. Dr. Clark kind of inherited that
thing. In 1932, it was, he I Pratt] moved out
of the state, resigned, and I was appointed.

Now, where was I? Central heating plant.
The question was whether we should have
steam or whether we should have hot water.
The Regents had engineers from all over the
country advising them, and most of them—
well, they were divided. Finally, I know Mr.
Pratt asked them to turn it over to him. He was
the one that made the decision that they put
in hot water. And they had trouble with the
installation. A spur track from the Western
Pacific to the central heating plant was put
in during this time. It was nicknamed the
“Gorman Shortline.” You see, after getting the
central heating plant, by getting a carload of
oil delivered right there, it saved quite a bit
of money.

Artemisia Hall was built as an additional
girls’ dormitory. I think there were two ladies
on the Board at that time. I read some of the
minutes on this thing. [Laughing] They were
determined and they wanted it their way.

Now, the long loop at the Orr Ditch was
changed to an inverted siphon. It used to go
around, way up and around. I remember that

Silas E. Ross

when I was on the Board, it channeled through
the University, going this way, causing caving
of the banks, and then turned And went in
the other direction. It was recommended
that they cement it, do things like that. They
didn’t have the money Ito repair it], and Mr.
George Wingfield—I can tell this now—said,
“Row much—.” He told them, “Put it in and
I’ll pay for it.” Now,’ someday, I want to do
something on George Wingfield, because
I know the great things that he did for the
University. People don’t know what he did
for that University when he was on the Board.

Now, the dairy herd was moved to the new
University stock farm. The dairy herd, some of
it, had been on the ground of the experiment
station laboratory east of Valley Road, and
some of it at the fairgrounds. They used to
lease the fairgrounds. It was all moved to the
new University stock farm. It was shortly after
Hendrick’s resignation, because I remember
reading of his presentation and request to the
legislature for [its] improvement. He said that
if they would improve it and build these barns
and such things as that, that they could raise
enough stock and sell it to retire their bonds.
The oldtime cattlemen kind of disputed that.

The new civil engineering building was
built. Quite an improvement was made in the
interior arrangement of the Mackay School of
Mines. The Clark Library building was built.

Hatch Station was moved to the northwest
corner of the campus. An interesting story
in connection with that—they didn’t want
to destroy the building. The contractor said
he’d try to move it, Nut it was a gamble. So he
jacked the building up, and he moved it clear
across the campus, They’d built a foundation
for the building and had it just ready to sit on
the foundation, In moving the structure, they
didn’t even crack the plaster. The contractor
got a little pie-eyed at the celebration the
night before lowering the building on the

foundation. In the process of lowering the
foundation, a horse windlass was used. As
the horse started around this windlass thing,
the contractor hit the horse a crack on the
butt. The horse jumped. The building shook.
It frightened everybody. No damage was done
except breaking some of the old plaster.

It was during Clark’s administration that
the law was amended to increase the term of
the Board of Regents to ten years. I remember
that it was felt by that new Board, the “ABC
board,” that they could tell all the people of
the state that if each board member could
have a longer term, they need only elect a
Regent a year. [They believed] that long-range
policies of the Board could better mature
without interruption and be of benefit for
the University. Another important thing
happened during the Clark administration.
It came up on the recommendation of Mr.
Gorman, and it was endorsed by Dr. Clark.
The law required that all payrolls, bills, and so
on be mailed to Carson City to be checked and
audited, after which checks were mailed by the
state to the creditor. Mr. German came before
the Board of Regents with the consent of the
president and showed how much money the
University could save in discounts alone if
accounts were paid on time. He proposed that
the Regents create a revolving fund and pay
the bills out of that revolving fund and then
send the paid invoices, salaries schedules over
to Carson for them to audit, If the accounts
were found correct, the state could reimburse
the revolving fund and thus keep this account
liquid and make it possible to take advantage
of cash discounts. The question was where
to obtain the money for the revolving fund.
David Russell, a stockman from the Long
Valley-Sierra Valley area, had willed a large
sum of money to the University, the income
from which could be used by the University
according to other instructions in the will.

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He made Mr. George H. Taylor, who was
secretary of the board, the person who would
approve of the disposition and also have
charge of the investments, Russell also made
the further provision that in the event of the
death of Taylor or his resignation that the
power to handle this fund would be in the
hands of the president of the University. The
Regents could recommend the project they
thought best. So the Regents borrowed from
the David Russell fund and put that into the
revolving fund. That started on Mr. Gorman’
s analysis and it proved itself. The legislature
gave approval of this plan, and in this manner
the University could take their discounts,
which amounted to a lot of money, and the
faculty people could be paid on time. Then, of
course, if it went over to the board of finance,
or whatever the board was that had to okay it,
if they’d find any error in it, they’d call [it to]
the attention of the University and give the
comptroller and the president an opportunity
to come over and justify it.

Mr. Gorman and I were quite instrumental
in getting the Clark Library. Mr. [William
Andrew] Clark’s wife was Alice McManus
of Silver City, and Alice McManus was the
school friend of Charles Gorman. Mrs. Clark
was ill, and she requested of her husband
that they do something for the University in
memory of her, She discussed it with Charlie,
and Charlie suggested to her that she should
submit it to the president, but to keep in mind
the library because the first library was in the
bottom [floor] of Morrill Hall. Then when
Dr. Reid was on the Board, he went over and
got an appropriation for the small library
afterward. (That’s the one that became the
journalism department.) So she approached
Dr. Clark, and something happened— I don’t
know what it was—and the deal was off. I
think maybe in her first interview with Dr.
Clark on the matter, she was disappointed and

sort of gave up the idea. Mr. Gorman was the
one that talked Alice into coming back and
to come up to talk to him about it; he asked
that I be present. We made the appointment
and we went out and sat out on the Mackay
bleachers and discussed it. And things worked
out. that she had made the proposition again,
and then she died. Nothing was done for quite
a while. But Mr. Clark kept it in mind and at
a later date built the present library, and they
named it the—well, they called it the Clark
Library, but it was the Alice McManus Clark,
and I hope they preserve that name there.

Dr. Clark was here just a short time,
and I’m not so sure— one of the Regents
at one time decided that we ought to have
something for the library and he went to the
legislature, and independent of the Regents’
authorization, he got an appropriation
through for a library. That was the little
building that was the journalism department
for a long time.

Also, after Dr. Clark came here, a teacher
by the name of Leach (I think he was in the
English department) was appointed dean of
students. There was a big hullabaloo about
it.On the strength of that, Regent Talbot—I
don’t know whether Mr. Pratt was involved
in it. Well, anyhow, the appointment of Leach
caused a general rebellion. On the basis of
that, Talbot got some sort of an investigation
going, and he introduced a resolution (I think
it was in the Board of Regents) about Clark’s
act in setting the screws on some of the ideas
that this man, Leach, put in. This resolution,
if I remember correctly, was presented at the
Regents meeting. If I remember, the sum
and substance of it was that the action of the
president in this particular thing justified
calling for his resignation and for a legislative
investigation.

Out of that investigation a question was
asked, “Who should run the University, the

Silas E. Ross

Board of Regents or the president?” I think
the committee decided that the Board of
Regents were the legislative group, and they
should determine the policies which were
recommended by the president. After these
things were determined, that the president
was the administrative head of the group,
thus justifying Dr. Clark, Leach and some
others left the faculty. Now, during Dr.
Clarks administration, we had a suggestion
as to limiting the student body. There was
an increase in the faculty, and there was
an increase in the courses given and some
construction. I think it was during his time
that the legislature passed an ad valorem tax,
the income from which would be used for
building construction. In other words, they
were creating funds to be drawn as needed.

Now, Dr. Clark certainly made an honest
effort to improve the University within
the means at his hands. And the thing that
happened during that time when they were
increasing the faculty: he was in a competitive
market, but he was able to bring in a number
of younger men at a nominal salary with the
understanding that they would be promoted
rapidly. The result of that eventually was—
well, agitation. Dr. Clark admitted that there
was an inequity in the salary setup and
promised that the matter would be adjusted
so that the ranks were autonomous in the
matter of salary. But that was the beginning
of the thing.

Dr. Clark—honestly, I believe that he
was farsighted. He was able to bring many
good men, and he would promote them as
he had promised. Jealousy crept into some
of the departments. These are but some of
the highlights of Dr. Clark’s administration.
These alone justify me in saying that his
administration was one of growth and
expansion on the cornerstone erected by
his predecessors. He further laid a good

cornerstone for his successors to erect future
superstructures.

Leon W. Hartman

I’d like to interject something here
before I start on Dr. Hartman, to make some
observations. And one is this: that every
president we have had has had controversy
between the faculty and the administration,
and also between the public and the
administration. I think if you look at the
history of the University, the start out in Elko
County, there were problems—differences
of opinion, changes in faculty out there for
quite a while.

But, now, Dr. Brown had difficulties.
He had a pretty fair faculty, but he got one
man in that became quite controversial and
was controversial at that particular time.
As you follow through each one of these
administrations, you will find that the good
will of the public waned at times, and as
it went on, you could trace it directly to
misinformation given to them by disgruntled
faculty members Or some unhappy citizens.

The first time that the Regents took a stand
on that was early in Dr. Stubbs’ administration.
Now, Brown had this trouble, and then
Jones had this trouble.. These troubles were
somewhat overcome when all the facts were
out. But the first time that the Regents took
any stand on it was what I call the Jackson
episode. Mr. Jackson was an eminent mining
engineer. He was a good-looking fellow; he
was easy to meet, made friends easily, and
so forth—perhaps he was exceptional in that
line. But he wanted a lot of time to and for
himself. The president tried to settle these
differences, but it would reoccur. About the
time Dr. Stubbs’ health failed him somewhat,
the Regents gave him a leave of absence.
They made Mr. Henry Thurtell the acting

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president. That made Mr. Jackson pretty mad
because he had seniority on the faculty, and
he threatened to quit. He and another faculty
member by the name of Phillips (I think
Phillips was in the chemistry and physics
departments) tendered their resignations.
The Regents accepted their resignations and
then the Regents declared themselves. I can’t
remember the exact words, but they passed
a resolution to this effect? “Each member of
the faculty should be expected to give his
undivided time and attention to his teaching
work and other work of the University which
was assigned by the president and approved
by the Regents.” Well, that was taken during
the early time in the Stubbs administration.
Matters were pretty well understood and
settled for some time. Sometime later, there
was again controversy between some faculty
members and the administration. The Regents
took a very definite stand. Some members of
the public got into the difficulty, and it again
sprouted. The Regents stood firm. There were
some faculty members that resigned. I know
that happened one time when I was in the
University, and I think that it was when Dr.
Stubbs was traveling in the interests of the
University and Thurtell had taken his leave
of absence to go in the state as state engineer.
The Regents made N. E. Wilson acting
president. He was a popular man with fine
administrative ability, but some of the faculty
members got jealous and tried to create
dissension. But that was soon squared away.

Now, then, you can follow that same
thing through the latter part of Dr. Stubbs’s
administration. You can immediately pull
it into the Hendrick administration. Mr.
Hendrick was a man that was well grounded
in finances and such things as that. His
experience, I guess, in school administration
was small, although he was the head of a
department of some university when they

brought him here from out of Canada. But
some of the faculty became irritated because
he was spending too much time and effort
on the business side of the administration,
and finally, you know, Mr. Gorman resigned.
They brought in a new person as comptroller.
Rumor said that there was a war on on the
part of the interested public. It was really a
war between the agricultural people, who
were misled on this agricultural experiment
farm, and statements that the president had
made about the financial structure and how he
was going to pay for all this expansion. These
old-time cattlemen and farmers said, “That’s
the piece of paper. It’s not actually practical.”

Each time that there was an increase in
the personnel of the faculty and departments
expanded, trouble arose. Now, when Dr. Clark
came into the picture, he did a whale of a job
establishing good public relations, and such
things as that. He had his own ideas about
expansion of the different departments. There
were certain departments that were unhappy.
Plow, that came up a couple times in Dr.
Clark’s administration.

Then the financial structure became
involved. The Regents called Gorman back to
straighten out the structure, and everything
ran smoothly, excepting this: some things
were being done and then reported as having
been done without having first met the
approval of the Board of Regents. That was
undoubtedly due to the fact that the rules and
regulations adopted by the Board provided
for certain regular meetings, and they were
a long way apart. Special meetings could be
called if the president thought it necessary.
That matter was amicably adjusted.

When I became a member of the Board
of Regents, it appeared to me that each time
that they had an increase in departments, the
greater the personnel, the more liberty they
had and more demands they made for their

Silas E. Ross

departments. Each wanted a separate—you
know all that. The members felt that any
policies made by the president, and the
like of that, should be submitted to them,
and the Regents take no action until they
got a recommendation from the faculty.
The Regents hit on that. Right at the end
of the Clark administration, there was very
definitely a division in the faculty which could
have been solved, but Dr. Clarks health failed.

Now, when it failed, we were up against
selecting a new president. We talked the matter
over, and some of us who knew something on
the inside suggested that instead of going to
the outside to get a president that we ought to
be able to choose a man from our own faculty
who wasn’t allied with any of the factions,
but who was close enough to the academic
picture to know all of these things. We looked
them over, and there was one man that was
outstanding to us. That was Leon W. Hartman.

Hartman had an excellent educational
background and he had worked at Cornell
and graduated from Cornell. He then went to
Germany, to Gottingen. That’s an interesting
thing. A great many of our people went to
Germany; they went to Gottingen. And others
went elsewhere, but Germany seemed to be
the place where they had available research
material. Now, when he came back from there,
he went back as an instructor in physics at
Cornell, So there, he had teaching experience.
Then he was hired by the University of Utah as
a professor of physics. He had that experience
when he came here.

Now, he came the year that they retained
me to stay on, 1909. I’d taken my physics
under Dr. Minor, who was also a Gottingen
man. I think the physics department kind
of got lost in the adjustment that was made
beginning first, when they had the fire in the
old agricultural building. They remodeled
that thing and put the mining engineering

and physics in that building, and then they
moved the agricultural departments. Then
the mining came up, and they moved them
out of the remodeled building and over to
the new Mackay School of Mines building.
Then they opened up this area for the physics
department, math, and high school science
and math. Of course, later, they got the
building for agriculture. In the meantime,
agriculture was really working out of the old
Hatch station.

Leon Hartman, when he came, had that
problem, but he was a very pleasant man, easy
to meet. He was a quiet fellow, took his job
seriously, and never interfered with anybody
else. He knew the financial structure and
such things as that, and he was just ingenious
in taking the old broken-down equipment
that they had in the physics department
and building it up to new, and even making
a lot of instruments. Quite naturally, that
improved the department of physics. Then
about that time, the colleges of engineering
over the country decided they ought to have
more chemistry and more physics for their
engineers, and some more mathematics. In
order to comply with that, they got some
appropriations through, and Dr. Hartman got
some necessary equipment.

Now, my impression of him at that
particular time was that he was an inspiring
teacher. He was exact, and he was a
disciplinarian. But he was inspiring, and
the students liked him, even though he was
tough. He made an excellent teacher, and he
was detailed in everything that he had done.
He was ingenious, as I said before. He had a
heavy load, and he didn’t have any help at all
for a while. He finally got some help and then
expanded further. But he would also do this:
if any of these kids were having any trouble,
he said, “Now, if you’re having any trouble
and don’t understand this and I don’t have

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time to give it to you while I’m here, come to
the house, or come back over, and I will work
with you.” And there wasn’t any—no dummy
stuff with him. He’d take ahold of the kid and
show an interest in the young fellow, and he
would discover his shortcomings. Even if
it had a mathematical side, he’d help them
over the hump. So the result was that he had
a very efficient department. As we go on, we
look into the record while he was there and
see the students that he turned out—even in
engineering. They were taken up by the other
universities as physicists. See how many of
them went ahead and accomplished greater
things? Lloyd Smith, and a bunch of those
fellows.

Now, with that solid background—.
Hartman didn’t believe in cliques. He believed
in the democratic principle of debate, and
such things as that. But after a conclusion
was drawn by a majority, he abided. He might
disagree, but he abided by the will of the
majority and he worked under that principle
instead of the gossiping on the outside.
He liked to talk always not in the terms of
“I”—you’re going to “our department,” a
department consisting of all of us. If you’re
talking about the University, the University
as a whole, then, “my particular department.”

The fact that he knew both sides of the
divisions in the faculty, and he had hewn to
the center, we considered that he would make
an excellent president. Without further search
or a bias from anyone, we called him in and
offered him the position. And he was the most
surprised man you ever saw! He said, “That’s
the furthest from my mind. I don’t know.
Gentlemen, I appreciate it, but I would like
to have the time to discuss this fully with my
wife and family.”

We explained to him that we felt he had
all the qualifications that anybody else could,
but because he was so familiar with the inner

workings of the faculty and its division, we
thought he was going to be able to handle
it. So we started him. The dear man worked
himself to death on it. He carried with him
into the office of the presidency his personal
detail on everything. All of that he carried
right into the office of the president, with
the result that he spent hours and hours and
hours reading reports. If it wasn’t clear in his
mind, he’d send for people to get it cleared up,
which took a great deal of time. It did seem,
maybe, to some of these faculty members that
he didn’t trust them, that it wasn’t necessary.
It wasn’t that, but he wanted to be sure. The
result is that he just worked himself to death.

He [Hartman] knew there were divisions in
the faculty. Any recommendations that came
to him, and the like of that, he didn’t want any
aspersions cast on anybody. He wanted the
facts, so that when he presented it, he’d have
these facts without prejudices, and such things
as that. I do know he sent a lot of things back
to these people to write it over, and so on. I do
know that a number of the faculty thought that
he was working himself to death, but he made
each one of them work, also. They didn’t have
time. They had a fear of him that if they’d go out
and agitate or stretch the truth, or make smart
statements without good background, that he’d
pick it up, and that’d be the end of them. Now,
I think that’s why he did it, because I talked to
him one time about it, just questions. I had him
over to the house, and I talked with him, and
I said, “Dr. Hartman, you’re president, and I
taught opposite you for a long time. I know the
type of man you are, but you’ve got to learn to
pass on responsibility. You’ve done a whale of
a job now, not in passing responsibilities, but
in cementing these people. Now, why don’t
you give them a little chance without—when
you have a conference with an individual—not
spend any detail over it, knowing it’s all right
and you can present it?”

Silas E. Ross

He thought a while. He said, “I’d like to
do that. I think the idea is good. But what if
it gets out that I don’t go over everything?”
You see how meticulous he was, how— what
a detail—?

Now, then, during that time, they were
having a meeting of the land grant colleges
and the universities, and we didn’t have a
president to send, so the Board asked me to
go and represent the University. But before
the meeting of the land grant colleges and
universities, he had been elected president. So
I called the Board together and said, “Now, Dr.
Hartman is the president, and I think that you
should delegate him to go back and represent
the University instead of me, because that’ll
put him in touch with all of these people.”

They discussed it pro and con and said,
“Well, we can afford to send the both of you.
It would be good for a Regent to go back and
observe these things; be good for Hartman
to have a Regent that was there to support
him, to help him get around.” So we both
went back.

Now, I observed him very closely. Cecil
Creel was the president of the Association of
Land Grant Colleges that year. Hartman spent
a great deal of time there. I didn’t because their
agenda didn’t seem to be worth too much, but
I thought I’d go down and watch this other.
Dr. Hartman was particularly interested in the
application of this to a university that is both
a university and a land grant college. You see,
Nevada and California and—oh, there was
Wyoming and Arizona—all about the same;
they made it one unit, the layout.

I know that when it was over, “Now,” he
said, “I got to get home.”

And I said, “What’s the hurry? Why don’t
you visit a little bit?”

“Well,” he said, “you know, there’s a
responsibility and nobody acting there for
me.” So you can see the dedication.

I want to tell you another story. You can
let it go in here if you want to. During the war,
the Bureau of Standards asked for the services
of Dr. Hartman. It was necessary for him to
get somebody to fill in during this particular
time, think that’s when Liefson came in; I’m
not sure. Well—that’s right. But he had the
responsibility of certain instruments that
were fine and had to be checked out to the
nth degree and to check all of those things and
then to tell them whether it would or would
not [pass the check]; it was a very responsible
position. But while he was back there, his
younger daughter drowned in Pyramid Lake.
And he couldn’t get away. We [Ross-Burke
Company] had been called on to service it,
but he couldn’t get away. He would come
later, but said to arrange for cremation and to
hold the ashes until he got back. I had a lovely
letter from him on the way I handled things,
and such as that, and he said when he came
back, “I want to ask you some questions.”
And he did.

He first asked me about what was necessary
after cremation, and where they could get a
niche, and so on down the line, and the type.
And that I squared away, and then he finally
said, “Silas, what percentage of the resulting
ashes is wood ash?” There again, it proves
his detail.

Now, before that, fortunately for me, I’ve
always thought, “Now, you’re here to advise,
and the thing for you to do is be prepared,
not say, “I don’t know.” But I was interested in
this particular question, so I wrote to different
crematories and asked them if they had any
records that would show the percentage
of wood ash to human ash in the resultant
remains. A lot of them wrote back and said,
“There is no wood ash.” One fellow wrote back
to me, he said, “Damn it, you tell me. I don’t
know, and I don’t think anybody else knows,
and how are we going to proceed?”

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So I wrote him and I said, “I need your
cooperation, but let me do a little work.”

So I took an average casket made of
redwood and got its weight, and everything
like that, and the number of cubic inches
in it. Then I took samples and went to the
laboratory and then burned them down to
a white ash and weighed that ash. So I knew
that out of so many cubic inches of what was
cremated, there would be a certain amount of
white ash. That done, then I could figure the
timber in the baby caskets and different-sized
caskets, and so on. I asked them to please
weigh the resulting ash after cremation of an
adult, or adults above a certain age—adults of
this age, and then youth. Then I asked them to
go further, to weigh the ash of both men and
women of these divisions because women’s
bones are smaller. And that they did. Having
that, then estimating the amount of ash (I had
the total ash, don’t you see?) that there would
be in that casket and deducting it from the
weight, I could work it out. I did work it out.
when I got it worked out, I sent the results to
this fellow and he said, “You’re the only man
in the country that’s ever thought of that and
perhaps the only one that would know how
to find it out.”

Dr. Hartman said, “Silas, I’m interested.
What percentage of the resultant cremains of
my daughter is wood ash?”

I told him and told him of the experiment,
he looked at me for a few minutes and said,
“I know you well enough to know that you
wouldn’t be satisfied unless you worked that
thing out.” But it proved to me the type of
man he was. He didn’t want any of this “bull.”

He also approached things this way: he’d
never say, “It can’t be done,” but, “Vow can
it be done within what I have here?” To me,
you know, that’s a remarkable thing in a man.

Well, anyhow, the work of that man
during the short period we had him was a

great accomplishment. As a matter of fact,
I think that he did more because of the fact
that every member of the faculty knew him
and knew him to be honest and knew him
to be democratic. He would express himself,
but he would abide by the will of the majority
and say, “This is thus.” Even though he didn’t
agree, he would abide by that. You know, we
haven’t had many men that do those things.

I could go on and talk for a long while,
but these are highlights of Dr. Hartman, his
training, his dedication, his willingness to
work and give the best he had under any
circumstance, whatever it may be, and also,
his devotion to his family—particularly his
wife. He would be sure that whatever he did
was agreeable to her. Well, she was a Ph.D.
[laughing], and you know, bless her soul, you
had to know her because she was a very quiet
person, and if somebody’d ask a question,
“Yes,” “No,” that is it.

It was during his administration that we
cancelled the old tradition of Baccalaureate
Sunday in the morning. Now, he was a very
devout person, church man, and his pastor
was one of the agitators—had been for a long,
long time. He said this: “When you have your
baccalaureate in the morning, friends and
the people that are regular churchmen go up
there in the morning, but they don’t come to
church. Now, if you haven’t in the afternoon,
they can come to church in the morning and
then go on up to this if they want to.”

So he persuaded us to try it. I asked each
minister to keep track of their attendance
on Baccalaureate Sunday. Under the
circumstances, it was not good, not even in
the Congregational church. I looked over
the crowd and I looked also at those in the
graduate layout, and I counted them. There
were quite a few of them that didn’t come
to baccalaureate. They went up to the Lake.
They were interested, very definitely. Their

Silas E. Ross

parents came in here to see Tahoe and places
like that. There weren’t many church people
there, either. The attendance was very, very
poor. He asked if we wouldn’t continue it; we
did. Now, finally, they have it all together in
one day. But he was the one that started it.
Now, previous to that time, these ministers
would come in with this request. The president
had told us what had happened. If we had it
in the afternoon, they’d get out and go up to
the Lake, and then it would be attended well
because they wanted to hear a sermon, and
then they’d be here the next day. Of course,
many of our baccalaureate addresses were
called “baccalaureate sermons.”

Now, here’s another thing about this
agenda. Hartman had copies all made out,
and as action was taken, he had another pad
over here—one, two, three, and four. He had
a secretary there, taking the minutes and
everything like that, but he would write on
this other sheet of paper the disposition. Now,
I don’t think that Dr. Hartman would do that
to check on them or anything. He was a man
that believed that we were all prone to err;
we all make mistakes, and the secretary was
doing the best she could, but she might not
be able to read her notes properly, or maybe
she’d skip something. And if so—and he’d see
these minutes, he’d read them, too, see? He
could say it to her.

Now, Dr. Hartman was a detail man,
and he also was very, very thrifty. But
he was criticized, too. Now, during his
administration—and I think that was about
the time that Kir man was governor—all of
this federal money was available for building,
and such things as that, and in order to
get this money, you had to have certain
appropriations from the legislature, matching
funds, and certain agreements, and so forth.
The Regents suggested to Dr. Hartman that he
discuss this matter on behalf of the Regents

and himself with the governor, and if the
governor was in sympathy with it, he could
call a special session of the legislature to pass
this enabling act and appropriate this money.

Well, anyhow, the governor said, “Well,
we aren’t going to call a special session. It
costs too much money.” Oh, many, many
other things. He was a typical, hardheaded
businessman, and he said that this should be
available to us in the legislature in another
session. It should be available then as well
as now.

Hartman got criticized for that. The
faculty criticized him on the grounds that
he was out of tune with the time, and that
he should have got them to assist him then.
He refused to do it on the ground that the
expense to the University, the additional cost,
was greater than they could afford at that
time. Another thing he was criticized for by
members of the faculty was the fact that at
the end of the biennium, there were certain
funds—and this was typically Hartman—he
hadn’t spent everything. He returned to the
state treasury several thousand dollars.

Another reason that I think that they said
that he was out of tune was the fact that he was
a researcher and he had to read everything
that came in, the reports and such things as
that. He’d want to study them. It took time to
do this, and as a matter of fact, that’s one of
the things that tore him down; he was so much
in detail. He was criticized for that. Then he
also inherited some of the criticisms that
were built up by Dr. Clark during the Clark
administration. And the result [was that]
these people, at the time that Ralph Lattin
was in the legislature, both houses voted to
investigate these criticisms on things at the
University.

Now, this committee — gosh, they
recommended a lot of things. All ends of it. I
think the whole thing developed by too many

My Association with the University of Nevada

people going to the legislature, some members
holding themselves up as an authority of the
Board of Regents, and so on. But, gosh, as I
remember these things, they were conflicting
things. As an illustration—these are notes I
made—underfinancing some departments.
Now, you can see that came from someplace.
Deans neglected teaching for administration
chores. The internal organization of the
University was inadequate, how, you get
the other side—the department heads had
not been delegated authority and held
responsible. They also were after the school
of agriculture; they were not satisfied with
the personnel. They were not satisfied with
the college of agriculture facilities. Now, that’s
nobody’s fault excepting the appropriations.
You see, they were overlapping on this
thing; they were using extension men to
teach certain subjects and so on to keep the
school going. This same report criticized,
I think, the Regents for no definite plan of
advancement for the professors, no definite
salary scale according to rank, no definite plan
of retirement for personnel, and the emeritus
ratings. And here was another thing. (I looked
at some of my own notes on this—gosh, I wish
I hadn’t thrown some of them away.) Some
faculty members had not kept up with the
self-betterment layout. And remember that
we were having a little battle on the athletic
situation. Now, these people that we got into
this darn thing said the athletic situation was
unhealthy. They didn’t like the idea of more
scholarships, guaranteed jobs, no tuition
payment. And, of course, the organization
development was tight then and became
more [so] later, but they did recommend
that the head of the physical education and
the administration of athletics be put under
one head.

Now, I have covered Hartman quite
completely because we as Regents had

concluded that he was the man to settle
this thing. We thought that he would be
able to do it because he had been neutral
between the two factions of the faculty—
this scholarship stuff and athletics, and all
of those things. But nothing that he had
done was criticized by the legislature. As
a matter of fact, they were happy with his
meticulousness in all of these problems, and
out of the records that he kept, they were
able to straighten out many of the rumors
and charges. I want to tell you that from
my observation, Hartman accomplished
a lot in bringing things to the surface. I
refused to answer Lattin’s questions when
he came down alone representing the entire
committee. The committee eventually came
to the University and did get at the bottom of
all the charges. My idea was very definitely
that we needed more than one person
there, because if they were all there, they
would hear this all, and each would have
an opinion. And frankly, all of these things
had been brewing for some time. I don’t
know whether they would have come to the
surface if Hartman hadn’t very definitely and
honestly returned this money, and hadn’t
very definitely refused the demand for a
special session of the legislature when the
governor disapproved under this additional
expense. Undoubtedly, he was the man we
needed then. I feel that way and I’m sure the
rest of the Board also felt that way.

Now, when Dr. Hartman died, I think
that he had cleared the way for complete
harmony because these people understood
that he expected them to work as an
“us” institution, not an “I” department,
or individual. Now, the only thing that
happened in his administration that caused
a legislative investigation was the fact of the
matter of admission of young Lattin. I have
told that story elsewhere.

Silas E. Ross

John O. Moseley and Gilbert Parker

You know, I think that some of the
comments that were made in here (Moseley’s
Inaugural Program*) are worth repeating.

Dr. Alfred Atkinson said this:

Most administrators drift into this
important service without the breadth
of training and varied experiences
which they quickly learn are essential.
And they have to quickly learn it if
they expect substantial success to be
obtained.

And he said this:

President Moseley does not
belong to this group. He has enjoyed
the educational advantages offered
by the South, the West, and the finest
institutions abroad. He has carried
administrative responsibilities
in several institutions. In all, it
combines to give him the vision
and experience essential as an
administrator.

Then he said,

President Moseley, you have come
into a large opportunity. May I say
to the U of N, you have made a wise
selection to become a president.

Now, at least it shows—. A little after, it
says,

No dispute, but the steady mind,
the constant devotion, and unceasing
effort of the chairman of the board
kept the University ship on an even

keel and brought her into this lovely
haven of today.

Now, then, Norcross said this, representing
the alumni:

I know that in our new president,
we have a man who fits the state of
Nevada. He not only has a great record
as a University president, a teacher in
great institutions, but when he came
to our own Nevada state, we found
that he possessed the character of
manhood, which we in Nevada so
admire.

So a tribute has been paid to the Board
of Regents:

Like us lawyers and judges, even
Board of Regents some times make a
mistake. But I want, on this occasion,
to say we made no mistake in this
election of our new president.

And this is interesting, too, because Dr.
Moseley, when he came here, opened up
the presidents home to everybody. It never
happened before. This little lady says here—
that’s from the introduction that I quote this:

Dr. Moseley, during his thirty
years of experience in the field of
education, has taken an active interest
in the students and their problems.

In Dr. Moseley, we have a true
friend. He has said, ‘I shall welcome

*See the “Inauguration of John
Ohleyer Moseley...” in the University of
Nevada Archives.

My Association with the University of Nevada

every opportunity to become better
acquainted with the students’ And
he has practiced what he has preached
in inviting the student body to an
open house given in his home last
Monday evening. When we bring
our problems to the president’s office
in Morrill Hall, we find friendly
guidance, new ideas, and a wealth of
experience. And so, Captain Moseley,
this little crew stands at attention,
awaiting your orders, ready to go full
steam ahead.

See, John was here for awhile before.
Another quote is Dr. Nicholas Ricciardi,
who was president of the Sacramento Junior
College, and the statement,

We have in President Moseley a
great leader. We hope that we may
have the opportunity in California
to avail ourselves of his superior
leadership. He is a human engineer.

Then Traner said this in introducing John
at dinner:

By his efforts to cooperate with
the alumni, the Alumni Association
is moving forward. By his winning
personality and deep fondness
for youth, the student body has
already come to love him. And by
his friendliness and his ability and
his deep scholarship, the faculty has
already begun to admire and esteem
him.

This is all in the inaugural program. There’s
lots more in there. Some of it—Dean Traner’s
part, he just kept us all in laughter. [Laughing]
He—when he introduced Thompson, he just

tickled me. If I can find that—he put in this
little line in there about Dean Thompson. He
said,

No man on the present staff
has served the institution and his
community for a longer period of
time with more distinction and more
varied capacities than Dean Reuben
Thompson. Six years beyond me in
point of service, sixty years beyond
me in point of wisdom and ability, he
ranks today not only as the dean of
men, but dean of spiritual thinkers,
dean of public speakers on the great
values of life, dean of all the faculty.
Dean Thompson, will you speak?

He opens up, and he says,

I was never so delighted in my life
as I was to hear the exaggerated words
of Dr. Traner! [Laughing] The prophet
is not without honor save in his own
home among his own people—and
Mrs. Thompson is here today.

Then Traner said,

Well, if you’ve suffered much, you
are going to suffer more, because I’ve
written a poem. Rather, in fact, it is a
parody on song, and if you were the
only fellow who would have to suffer,

I’d sing it. But out of consideration
for the rest of the others, I will merely
read it:

Reuben, Reuben, I’ve been thinkin

What a strange school this will be,

When yourself has been
transported

Into our Emeriti!

Silas E. Ross

Thompson was always—. Really, there’s
an awful lot of good stuff in there, but I
just thought this would show it. Now, this
committee on arrangements that I made
there, you look in the back and see where the
people came from all over the country, and
where they came, all of the Regents came. I
think John himself said this: “A telegram was
put in my hand this morning from a friend in
Cincinnati. It interested me. I thought it might
interest you. It says, ‘Regret inability to present
at installation. Government regulations
forbid. Felicitations’”

It shows very definitely that the people
were happy with John Moseley. And if there
was anybody happy, it was Mrs. Wardin. She
looked over all the recommendations, and
she studied them carefully, and she thought
we had in him the man. Then when he came
here, he won her. By that, it verified it. Now, I
know Mervylle [ Mrs. Ross] was telling me not
long ago, “I was visiting Mrs. Wardin” (and
she was sick with cancer, you know), “and she
said, ‘Oh, I hope that I can live long enough
to see Dr. Moseley inaugurated.’”

I got to thinking about Moseley’s
appointments and figured them out, because
he did bring in many good men. Now, after
Mr. Layman left, we had acting librarians
and partial librarians, and so forth. John
immediately knew the value of a library and
he recommended that we get a librarian in
research. Re was able to bring Dr. James J.
Hill here from Oklahoma, a quiet man, but
an efficient and good librarian. He proved
his worth because of the work that he did
in getting the library organized in the small
space he had at hand. The only regret that I
have is that when he had arrived at the age of
retirement (he dreamed this new library—
that was his work; he developed it, and so
on), they appointed a new librarian. Hill was
retained temporarily to familiarize the new

man with the library. (I’d liked to have seen
him remain until the new library building
was dedicated, but that’s neither here nor
there now.)

Now, another thing that interested me
was this. Ernest Inwood was in the business
administration school, a part of the liberal
arts division, and he was very, very good, but
the head man that we had here went over into
California. Dr. Moseley liked Inwood and
thought he had a lot of ability, so he promoted
Inwood to the head of the economics and
business administration. Inwood, afterwards,
of course, resigned.

Now, then, they had to get a new head
of the department of home economics. That
was after Miss Lewis died and we had acting
people in there, but none of them had had
executive [experience]. Moseley brought in
Miss Mildred Swiff to head the department
and she continued there until she retired.
(And by the way, I had a call from her the
other day to know if there was a Masonic
home that she could get into. I’ve got to write
Massachusetts, where she came from, to see
what they have.)

Now, then, during that time, the school
of agriculture, the extension division, the
agricultural experiment station, and the
related divisions were going through throes.
We’d had a little political upheaval. Creel took
time out [in 1942] to run for United States
Senator, and we had to do something there.
Then he came back and then the land grant
colleges wanted to borrow him from Nevada
to act as a lobbyist in Washington for a year,
so he was gone on that. Now, that made a split
in the division as to who should head it. Then
Prof Doten had reached the age of retirement.
Oh, yes, and Dean Stewart retired. Moseley
recommended that Fred Wilson act as head
of the teaching side of agriculture, Fleming as
the director of agriculture, and Tom Buckman

My Association with the University of Nevada

to take Creel’s place while Creel was away.
That was temporarily. Soon there was so
much hell a-poppin that the administration
decided to try this overall dean plan (they
called him the “overalls” dean), and Fleming
was appointed to that position. That was a
promotion for Inwood and Fleming directly
out of our own faculty.

Now, then, during the early part of the
war, and while Charlie was acting dean of
agriculture, Moseley took Griffin out of the
English department and gave him charge of
a certain division in connection with that and
made him acting dean of students. So when
Moseley came, he recommended Griffin for
dean. Re was there for a while; then he asked
to be returned to the English department.

Now, then, he brought in Miss Mobley
here as dean of women. He also appointed
Howard B. Blodgett as the head of the civil
engineering department. That’s the time of
Bixby’s death. Later, he was named dean of
engineering. Now, Moose was brought in here
to head the chemistry department because
Dr. Adams had retired, Dr. Sears retired, and
the department of chemistry needed a man
who had executive ability and who had had
teaching experience and also been in the
field, and Moose was in the field and had a
lot of copyrights, and such things as that, and
Moseley brought him here. I mentioned that
because Moose stayed with us until he retired.

Then another thing; our arts department
had been going wrong, up and down. I think
Mrs. Helen Joslin headed it for a while. Hans
Meyer-Cassell was interviewed. He refused
the appointment because of a language
barrier. Moseley said he thought he knew a
young man that would be interested. Craig
Sheppard was an Oklahoma boy and John
(Moseley] knew him as a student at Oklahoma
University and also met him when Sheppard
was a rodeo performer bulldozing in Madison

Square Garden. Sheppard accepted the
appointment, reorganized the department,
and expanded the field of operation.

Also, Moseley brought Ruth Russell in as
a teacher in the women’s division of physical
education. Miss Sameth was about ready to
resign—retire. Miss Russell had teaching
experience in physical education and was well
on her way to receive her doctor’s degree. She
received her Ph.D. in physical education, and
at this writing she is chairman of the women’s
division of the physical education department
of the University.

Now, about that time, Dr. Laird of the
English department took a leave of absence,
and they were short in the English department.
So Dr. Moseley recommended Paul Eldridge
for the position. I remember Moseley said,
“This man is an excellent teacher. He’s a
creative writer,” and such things as that. And
he further said, “He enlisted as a private in
the army when he could have applied for a
commission so he’d have that experience as
a background for his creative writing.” Dr.
Gorrell was added to the English department
about this same time.

I mentioned this—the biology department,
when Dr. Frandsen had retired, they made Dr.
Phillip Lehenbauer head of the department.
He brought in some younger men and
started to expand the department. One of
the men that he brought in was one of these
agitators—quietly, on the side. He brought
(Frank] Richardson in, too. (The agitator from
up at the top takes the man below and uses
him. Now,. Richardson resigned, of course.)

About 1937-1938, they had a situation,
too, around that era, when John Fulton was
the director of the school of mines and ran
for governor [1938].That had created a little
trouble as to who his successor should be,
and the idea of autonomy. Anyhow, Moseley
recommended Creel as the overall dean to

Silas E. Ross

solve the situation, and I think Fleming, as
director of the agricultural experiment station,
and somebody else (I think it was Wilson) on
resident teaching worked under him, and then
they divided the extension into three different
divisions. Tom Buckman, Paul Maloney, and
Verner Scott or possibly Wittwer were in
that division. Now, of course, to make Creel
an overall dean, he had to get the approval
of the research division of the agricultural
experiment stations in Washington. The
Washington agricultural department objected
to leaving the experiment station in the
picture. So That had to be changed, and
Charlie [Fleming] was appointed director of
the agricultural experiment station.

Now, there were quite a number of other
appointments of subordinates in different
departments because of the increase in
enrollment. I don’t remember all of them by
name. Those mentioned stand out because so
many of Them stayed until retirement, and
only a few of them resigned.

I went back in my own notes to find this.
I still have a lot of my notes. I know that
after Moseley made trips throughout the
state to get a picture of the whole setup in
Nevada, he came back and submitted ideas
for consideration of the Regents. I think that
he said, “Study and discussion and discussion
and study before original action.”

He was the first one to suggest the
correspondence and the extension courses
for teachers and specialists. At further
consideration, he suggested combining
the school of agriculture, the agricultural
experiment station, and extension under one
head. That was accomplished, of course, as I
said above, if it could have the approval of the
Department of Agriculture in Washington.

Now, we had a veterans’ setup—the
veterans wanted education, but they didn’t
all have the academic background. Moseley

proposed that they study the possibility of
short courses designed primarily for veterans.
He said this: “Some veterans do not have the
necessary academic background but desire
a college education. They would need these
extra courses in order to enroll for a four-year
course.”

About that time—I don’t know when this
recommendation came in, either before or
after, but the people at Nellis Air Force Base
had asked that the University put in some
short courses for the enlisted personnel down
there [in Las Vegas] to prepare them for a
better education. He recommended that we
investigate the matter. An investigation was
made and the University was about ready
to go ahead when authorities at the base
withdrew their request because they couldn’t
accomplish much because so many men were
coming and going all the time. Sometime
afterwards, the project was put into effect.

The University administration had a
committee on health and education, and so
forth. The committee requested a fulltime
university physician and gave its reasons.
Dr. Moseley recommended that we give
it consideration and further study. Now,
that’s the first time that was brought up, but
remember, the university administration had
a committee on health and education and
employed only one medical doctor so many
hours per day. There was a division of opinion
among the Regents and others. No conclusion
was reached, so the Regents dismissed the
recommendation for the time being.

Then a question came up about housing
of the returning veterans. You know, at the
time that we had the military unit at the
University, they had a place in back of Lincoln
Hall, and such places as that, and they took
up a good portion of the campus—the dining
hall and other places on the campus. Plans
had to be made to take care of the housing

My Association with the University of Nevada

and eating facilities for the returning veterans
and increased registration. Lincoln Hall and
Manzanita Hall couldn’t house all the people.
Moseley further suggested that we take into
consideration housing for married veterans
as well as single veterans. He also called
attention to the fact that younger members of
the faculty had to have lower living quarters—
that is, less expensive—and we might provide
living quarters for the younger faculty
members and veterans who were married.
The suggestion seemed revolutionary and
surprising to many people. They said, “Well,
they’re married. Why?”

Moseley suggested that the fraternity
houses weren’t operating. They weren’t able
to operate these houses as the men were
coming back because there weren’t enough
men to finance the operation. He suggested
getting the fraternity houses for both men and
women. I remember the SAE’s turned their
house over to the University to use as they
saw fit without rent, but with the provision
that they would refurbish it and maintain it,
and other incidentals. The University took
over some of the other houses at a small rent.

They had another problem of students
coming to the University—they had a trailer.
Moseley finally got in touch with the Chasms
and obtained space in that trailer court to
accommodate these students.

When the war was over and the military
abandoned quarters on the campus and
other quarters in the state, the University
was able to obtain structures from the bases
and move them to the campus. Among
these were Hartman Hall for the men and
apartment houses for the married students.
The furnishings weren’t much, but I was
interested, and I went over and looked around
and saw what these young wives had to put
up with. No particular furniture—there
might be an old bed, or something like that.

But they’d had soap boxes and orange crates
and such things as that laid out and covered
them with some sort of cloth. I observed what
a marvelous job these girls were doing to
maintain a home and a study area, and quiet
for their husbands. It seemed to me that they
were making just as big a sacrifice—maybe
a larger sacrifice than the boys themselves—
because they had to make a small budget go a
long way, but they wanted to help. It seemed
to me that something ought to be done to
recognize them. I took it up with the Board
at the next meeting or so and told them about
this condition and introduced a resolution or
made a motion that we make provision to give
each wife a certificate of merit whenever their
husband graduated. The idea was supported
by the president and all the Regents. By golly,
we had them come up on the stage and receive
their citation at commencement.

Now, let me see here. Of course, during that
time, people were coming back, and we had to
make more plans. The students were coming
back and we needed more help on the faculty.
We brought in a lot of new faculty people.
Then we found this, too, that there were many
people in the Las Vegas area that would like
to have consideration for a southern branch
of the University in Las Vegas. Moseley was
the first one to recommend that if we could
get the physical setup, we’d provide for certain
courses that the people could take down
there. The University was able to work out an
agreement with the Las Vegas school board to
use the high school facilities in the evenings
temporarily and offer university courses.
Right along with that, Moseley suggested
after making a survey that many teachers
in the state were married people. The law
requires that to renew their certificate, they
have to take certain refresher courses. He
recommended for our consideration—and
he hoped favorable consideration—sending

Silas E. Ross

people to the particular areas to conduct these
courses. I remember him saying something
like this: “These married ladies have children
in school, and the children are taken care of
in school after breakfast and before dinner,
and shed get home and do these particular
things. But to leave in the summer when there
wasn’t anything for the children to do, it was
almost impossible for them to get down here
[to Reno]. So, if they could make this service
available, the teachers could at least [have an
opportunity to take the work at home].” And
that was presented for discussion.

Then he [Moseley] also suggested, for
the consideration of the Board, some setup
on a retirement plan that would be worked
out and be presented to the Board of Regents
for consideration. Now, I don’t know just
when this happened, but it was during this
particular time a committee from the faculty
was appointed to research the matter and
report to the administration. The committee
came in with certain plans and suggestions.
It was submitted to the University staff, and
there were a lot of people that turned it down
(one of them was Miss Sameth). There were
some criticisms. Later, it was finally worked
out to the satisfaction of most of the staff and
approved by the Regents. Moseley was the guy
that suggested this idea. I thought that I ought
to mention that here.

Re also suggested that we ought to have
a closer contact with the alumni and that
the president and others visit these clubs.
Those things were arranged, and I went out
on several of these trips because I knew the
alumni. As a matter of fact, he and I were
on our way to Los Angeles to meet with that
group, and as we started, he said, “By golly, I
forgot my big socks.” So we went back to the
University to get them, and as we were coming
down University Avenue, right at the corner
of Sixth, a big bread truck ran across right in

front of us. It upset the bread truck and was
the funniest thing I ever saw. His truck flew
over on its side, and I looked, and here was
the driver, pulling himself out. I was thrown
against the front part of the car, and they
thought I needed a doctor. They took me over
to the hospital and told me I couldn’t make
the trip. Moseley went on down.

The meeting was a large one. Alumni from
the entire Los Angeles area attended. Among
them was a lady whose name was McFarland.
It is reported she went up to Dr. Moseley and
said, “Doctor, I’m awfully glad to meet you
and to hear you, but I want you to know the
honest truth. I made every effort I could to
get down here, not to hear your address, but
to see the little boy that used to peddle butter
and eggs to my family when I was a student at
the University.” (I am that little boy.)

The YWCA was inactive on the university
campus. Mrs. Moseley talked to John about
this, and he thought it would be a good idea
and suggested that she initiate renewal of the
YWCA on the side and see what could be
done. It was restored on the campus. Now, of
course, in my judgment, John was full of ideas,
and the like of that, but he always suggested
these things for consideration and discussion.
He was very anxious for this YWCA to be
back on the campus because he thought it
could be a good influence on the campus.

Dr. Moseley was interested in obtaining
scholarships for deserving students in the
high schools of the state, particularly for those
who were partially or wholly self-supporting
with good grades. He discussed this idea with
many people. As a result, Raymond I. Smith
established a four-year scholarship to go to an
orphan from the Nevada orphans’ home, to
be continued each year depending upon the
ability of the donor. It was later increased to
include graduates from many high schools.
The candidates from those places were to be

My Association with the University of Nevada

nominated by the principals. This scholarship
for this orphan was $4,000-$l,000 a year.

Now, during the Moseley administration,
we had a reinstatement of the Fleischmann
scholarships. We received the gift of the
Fleischmann Ladino dairy and farm.

Noble Getchell was interested, and he
gave scholarships to a graduate of each of
the two high schools they had in Lander
County. There was a side issue to that—I
don’t know—I know this, but I don’t know
just how it happened—Noble discontinued
them. I knew Mr. Getchell quite well, and I
asked him one day why he discontinued the
scholarship. He said, “I didn’t get a thank you
from any of the students.”

I talked to Mr. Getchell about preserving
the memory of his father as a Regent by
adding a wing each side of Morrill Hall, east
and west—preserving Morrill Hall, and leave
the center portion wide open, high ceilings, as
a museum, and tie the wings in from a normal
height as an administration building. The
north side would be extended to accommodate
an elevator to go up and down and connect
with each floor. He gave it very favorable
consideration and was willing—at least I
thought he was—to refurbish old Morrill Hall,
in other words, bring it up to snuff. So that
would retain Morrill Hall, the first building on
the University campus. The wings were to be
named the Getchell Administration Building.
The idea was opposed by some Regents and
faculty and died a natural death. I am happy
that eventually we have a building named for
Getchell on the campus.

Now, another thing happened close to
the end of Moseley’s administration. You
know, in our 4-H work and that agricultural
experiment station, we cooperated with the
government and they cooperated with us.
Through Mr. Wingfield, who was interested
in the Fallon area, they acquired a farm

out of Fallon. I think they called it the
Newlands Experimental Farm; I’m not sure.
But the powers that be were about ready to
abandon the project, or they weren’t able to
finance it. Mr. George Wingfield, a Regent,
investigated the problem and solved it with
the result that the farm was offered to the
University. The acceptance was during
Moseley’s administration.

It was during Dr. Moseley’s administration
and after they’d moved into the Clark Library
that the Regents set aside sections as browsing
rooms, where all the books that were donated
by any one group would be named “such
and such a browsing room,” and other books
could also be placed in the room. Moseley
gave them his entire library. I don’t think that
idea was ever carried out during the balance
of Moseley’s administration.

Dr. Laird was brought in to replace Dr.
H. W. Hill in the English department. Hill
was retiring and entered the prune business
near Oroville, California. Other faculty
members who were interested in this same
business and area were Peter Frandsen,
Charlie Fleming, Dr. C. E. Rhodes. A. E. Hill
had been brought in by Dr. H. W. Hill and
succeeded as chairman of the department.
Then when he (A. E. Hill)’ retired, I think
Laird became head of the English department.
But in that department, there were also young
fellows like Bill Miller, Bob Griffin, and A1
Higginbotham. New men were brought
in by Dr. Laird. It was during the Stout
administration that Bill Miller took a leave
of absence to accept a temporary position in
speech at the University of Alabama for one
year. At the end of the year, Miller decided he
didn’t want to stay in Alabama. (They offered
him a permanent position; he didn’t want it.)
I think it was Dr. Stout that ruled that Miller
was on leave of absence, had a right to come
back to Nevada. Journalism and speech were

Silas E. Ross

taken out of the English department and
independent departments created.

We can go over into the department
of biology. Peter Frandsen retired and Dr.
Phillip Lehenbauer was made head of the
department. Dr. Ira La Rivers, one of our
own graduates, was also a member of the
department. The department grew rapidly.
New personnel was recruited. Division grew
between the new and the old personnel. Dr.
Lehenbauer took his retirement and moved to
California. The young people were not—well,
Lehenbauer took Dr. P. B. Kennedy’s place
way, way back; he was primarily a botanist.
These other people were more interested in
the biological side. Lehenbauer was interested
in trying to keep up with the reputation of
Peter Frandsen. These others thought that
they ought to expand more along other lines.

Now, I don’t think that Moseley had
anything to do with the appointment of any
of those in that [biology] department. I think
that that happened in the latter part of Dr.
Clark’s administration. Then when [Claude]
Jones died (he was in geology), they brought
in [Vincent] Gianella. He needed assistance
and they brought in a fellow by the name of
Wheeler.

It was about that time the Association of
University Professors was organized on the
Nevada campus. Some were not for it. Quite a
number of faculty got in. But not knowing too
much about it except from hearsay, I thought
it wise for an individual to find out about it.
The best way that I found out was to dig in
my own pocket and get a couple of fellows to
join it. I’d pay their dues, and so forth. One
of them is dead and one of them is still alive.
By virtue of that, we found out the source of
a lot of our dissension.

Now, one other thing that Dr. Moseley
did—some of them didn’t materialize while
he was there, but he set the background for

it. He brought Bob Hope here, and motion
picture studio people, and the like of that.
He contacted a man by the name of Herman,
Mr. Herman, who was a very wealthy
individual. He owned a ranch on North
Sierra Street. William Kearny, an alumnus,
was this fellow’s attorney. We set about to
see if we couldn’t get Mr. Herman to will
his farm to the University. He was alone, he
had no one to leave it to outside of a brother,
and this brother was not reliable. I think it
was left to the brother, but tied up in such a
way that he couldn’t sell it or anything like
that. After discussing it with Bill Kearney,
Bill agreed that it would be well to see if he
couldn’t make an appointment between Mr.
Herman and Mr. Moseley. That contact was
made. It looked as though he was favorably
impressed, but when he died, he left the
University some money, but he didn’t leave
them the farm. Bill told me afterwards
that he didn’t live long enough to get this
straightened out.

It was during Moseley’s administration
that, through Lester Summerfield, Moseley
made some contacts with Max Fleischmann.
He created quite a favorable impression.
I think that’s where he got the idea of the
farm for us. Fleischmann already, you see,
under the Clark administration, started these
[Fleischmann] scholarships, and then they
slowed down. But then it came to this farm
business out there; John had contacted him
and made a favorable impression. Nothing
was done during Moseley’s time, but he
also contacted Jess Whited, who was from
Wadsworth, and whose father, together with
a Mr. Esden, owned the Wadsworth water
company. This fellow Whited was a bachelor.
He was in the first student body at Nevada,
and then he went down on the coast and he
made quite a success. He remembered the
University in his will.

My Association with the University of Nevada

Moseley also contacted the son of LeRoy
Brown (Brown was the first University
president) when he presented the University
with an oil painting of his father. He also
contacted the Jones brothers, who were the
children of Mr. Jones (the second president)
and cultivated them. As a matter of fact, Dr.
Moseley had them up to the University at one
time, and Herbert gave the Phi Kappa Phi
address, and Gus gave the commencement
address. And they provided an oil picture of
their father.

Now, this lady (I can’t think of her name)
that I met socially, she was very wealthy.
She said she was interested in music in
the University and wanted to know why it
wasn’t developed. I explained to her that our
funds were limited and we were a land grant
college, and the only provision they made
for music was to teach the fundamentals for
teachers teaching in the rural areas. I told her
I’d have Dr. Moseley call on her. He did. She
then came to me and she said, “You know,
I’ve relatives that will be taken care of in my
will. I will provide something in that will
for the music department at the University
of Nevada.” That has materialized. I was
pledged not to mention that conversation
during her lifetime. I can’t think of her name.
Moseley contacted those, Jones’s, Brown’s
sons.

Then another lady, I don’t remember her
name, [willed] money for a loan fund. Well, I
had met her socially. She was interested in the
University and told me she was going to leave
some money to the University, a scholarship
or loan fund. She asked me what I thought
about it. “Well,” I said, “I’m prejudiced, so
maybe you better not ask me.”

“Now, then,” she said, “which of the two
are the best?”

Then I said again, “I’m prejudiced.”

She said, “Please tell me.”

I said, “You can get all kinds of fellowships
and they’re usually based on all kinds of
scholarship. But they’re usually based on
scholarship entirely and not need. And,” I said,
“we have one loan fund at our University, and
it has done a lot of good. The income is used
for young people that want to go to college at
a low rate of interest, but they have to have an
endorser. That, then, makes the young fellow
realize that he isn’t getting the money on his
own. That helps him out, but he has to have
somebody to vouch for him so he can pay it
back in time. The scholarship is taken and you
then can select these people that are largely
self-supporting.”

She said, “I’m going to do something
about it. And say nothing.” But what she
did was make it a loan fund—and I don’t
know what her name is. I did arrange an
interview with Moseley. Now, these things
all materialized after he left, but it shows that
these contacts that this man made were not
local, but they were all over the country. He
laid the ground so that it would help them.

The trips that he made out through the
state, his frankness and speed, his friendly way
of approaching the thing, and the like of that,
did make him a lot of friends among the news
paper people, and even school people. He
had been groomed at his own request about
the legislature. He knew the experience Dr.
Clark and others had, so he was very careful.
He was welcomed in the legislature. He was
well received in the legislature, and by golly,
even [by] the old hard heads like Dressier
and others.

Now, John [Moseley] would speak when
invited to different service clubs, and the like
groups. I followed this pretty closely. His
speeches were very, very friendly. He had
enough background to be able to tell stories
and make them like him, and they’d ask him
back.

Silas E. Ross

Oh, I am at a loss to know two things, and
I’ve got to think about it. I’ve got to research
it because I am confused. One was the schism
between the Mackay School of Mines and the
school of engineering. Now, I know it started
under Dr. Stubbs, and he very definitely
claimed that the School of Mines was a part
of the engineering department and was kept
there. But when George J. Young left, he
was succeeded by a mining engineer by the
name of Lincoln. Then sometime in that area
and previous to ’39, John Fulton succeeded
Lincoln. So that would probably have to
be during the Clark administration. John
[Fulton] wanted autonomy right away. It was
during that time that an incident happened
when he got the direct appropriation from
Mackay. Then when he died in ’39, Jay
Carpenter was appointed. Jay contended for
autonomy. Moseley made extensive research
in the matter for the Regents. As near as I
remember, the only thing that was suggested
was that they should be interrelated, but if
it ever did become autonomous, they ought
to have a man with a varied background
like geology, mining, civil,- mechanical, and
electrical engineering to coordinate properly.
Re should also have a theoretical background,
and he could appreciate the fiscal side of the
thing, and so on down the line.

When Dr. Vernon Scheid came here, he
was made dean of the Mackay School of Mines.
And they had autonomy. But he broadened his
field. Right after he came—and that would
be early in the Love administration—Jay
resigned. And Scheid went from there. Now,
that was finally settled.

Now, in that particular thing, we have
to go over to the school of engineering.
The organization at that time was a dean
of the school of arts and science, a dean of
agriculture, a dean of engineering, and the
dean of education. And that first [education]

deanship, I think it was a Dr. John W. Hall
that was brought -here by, I think, Dr. Clark—
it could have been earlier. And when he
retired—anyhow, that was the organization.

At that particular time, too, the schools of
mines had realized that they had to go beyond
the metals, so they tried to change the name
to the “school of mineral sciences.” So that tail
was added to the name when they created the
school. It’s the Mackay School of Mines and
Mineral Sciences.

Sibley, the dean of engineering, died, and
that was during the Hartman administration.
At that time, I think one of the school of
mines men wanted to be the dean and
Hartman appointed Stanley Palmer as
acting dean. I think in ’41 Stanley was made
dean. (You see, Fulton died in ’39, and Jay
stepped up, and Stan was made acting dean
and then recommended by Hartman to
become dean. That was why, when he was
on this committee to review these things,
he could cover engineering.) Dean Wood
was head of arts and science, and he could
cover that. The special committee that was
appointed to review these things was made
up of Dr. Traner, representing education;
Wood, representing arts and science; Palmer,
representing engineering; and Cecil Creel,
representing agriculture. Added to that, on
the committee to arrange for this program
(were] Jay Carpenter, who had come into the
picture at that time, and Fred Wilson, who was
the head of the livestock department and was
the acting dean, and Higginbotham to serve
on publicity.

Now, there was a schism sprung up, and
that goes way back into the tail end of the
Clark administration—I think I mentioned
this.

Another thing that happened over there,
when Dean Stewart retired, they brought in
a Dr. Claude B. Hutchinson, and I’m not so

My Association with the University of Nevada

sure but what that happened during the latter
part of the Moseley administration, because
Dean Hutchinson represented the University
of California at that time, representing the
president. When Stewart resigned, they
brought in Dean Hutchinson, who was
retired at California at that time, to take over
temporarily as an all-around dean; under him
came the experiment station, the extension
division, and the school, because he had all
of those under his fingers while at California.

Then he left, and they decided maybe Creel
was the man, and he took over; that’s when there
was trouble. Even the bureau of experiment
stations got into it and didn’t feel that Creel
had the necessary training to act as director.
Dean Hutchinson was asked to coordinate
the agricultural division. Then he resigned. I
think he served through the latter part of the
Moseley administration and into the Love
administration. He was anxious to get out. He
had a lot of things in mind that he wanted to do,
and his decision came through at the time of the
Love administration. Love appointed a chap by
the name of Bertrand as the head of the school
of agriculture. Now, Hutchinson had started a
good organization. Bertrand was with us just
two years. But I think this area—I don’t think
these people liked his leadership, and maybe he
was a little bit too liberal. He resigned and he
went back in charge of one of these agricultural
schools, like the School of the Ozarks, back East.
Then Dean Adams was appointed. Now, he was
appointed under Dr. Stout.

Oh, really, I don’t know what more I can
say about Dr. Moseley. I’ve covered things
in general, and I haven’t stopped to think
of whether there were any buildings built
while he was here or not. I think maybe the
engineering school was built. That’s the one
down the hill. That’s the civil engineering
school. I don’t know. I’ve got to verify a lot of
these things.

I know something about his resignation. I
also knew that for years, the chapter national
of the SAE was trying to get John to go
back there and take the national recorder’s
position and operate his headquarters in
Evanston. He’d done a remarkable job when
he was national archon, and he was nationally
recognized. He was the one that also started
that leadership school. This gave him an
opportunity to go but still deal with youth.
Well, I made a statement that he resigned.
Then you have the resolution.

Now, Parker took over temporarily until
a new president could be elected. Parker
was a retired Army colonel and the head of
the military department at the University of
Nevada. We thought that he would be a pretty
good man to get things together, because at
the end of the Moseley administration, there
was differences of opinion between faculty
members themselves and the faculty and
administration and some students— and
when I say administration, I mean John, as
well as the Regents.

Now, of course, I think that one of the
great things that Parker did was, being a
military man, he made comprehensive charts
of the whole divisions and departments of the
University so that you had a chart. You could
see just what everybody was and who they
were. I think that was the most important
thing. He also suggested that we give further
investigation of the extension courses at Nellis
Air Base because it again cropped up that they
might want that. It was recommended to have
a committee appointed to work with those
people down there.

Then during his time, there was a
settlement of the Charles Cutts estate. I looked
this up. I knew that there was money there and
that there was a bond, and I was right. The
total of our portion of this estate amounted
to $720,650.24, and one Yokohama bond

100

Silas E. Ross

(on the appraisal, they said it was appraised
at fifty cents). Now, this was a request for a
scholarship. The scholarship was to be taken
from the income on the investment and given
to students that had the highest character and
best scholarship record. It was to be known as
the Charles Francis Cutts scholarship fund. I
don’t know where it is. Now, they’ve got these
things fixed up there differently than they
used to be.

Then this problem arose. A lot of country
boys out of high school had no desire to
enter a professional field, but they did wish
to get training in special subjects in which
they were particularly interested. Mr. Parker
recommended that we establish this two-year
special course in agriculture. A study had
been made—Wittwer, I think it is—I think
Wittwer was head of the teaching division at
that particular time and he was anxious that it
be done. We talked about this once before in
the previous administration. So Wittwer took
the initiative and discussed the matter with his
own faculty plus those from the general faculty
that were teaching subjects in the agricultural
department and obtained their endorsement.
But when this was accomplished, they had to
have the endorsement at that particular time of
the entire faculty. The majority of the general
faculty voted against the program, and the
matter was then tabled by the Regents. One
of the arguments used against it by the entire
faculty was this: This was just another avenue
to bring in athletes. It was a short course;
it didn’t have to have too much academic
standing, and so on. I’ll speak a little later
about that.

At that particular time, we had the school
of engineering, and that included mechanical,
electrical, civil, and mining. We had a dean, a
chief of all departments of engineering. The
school of mines wanted autonomy; at least
the director suggested it be made, instead

of being the school of mines, the college of
mines. So Col. Parker recommended that the
school of mines be established as a college
within the University and that it include
geology, metallurgy, and mining. Now, that’s
as far as it went. It was to be administered
by a dean. Then they got into an argument
and they had the public service layout, state
analytical laboratory, and related public
service divisions, like the bureau of mines. I’m
quite sure that that caused a lot of discussion
and a division between engineering faculty.
But anyhow, he recommended this particular
thing and further recommended that the
president should go ahead and contact
people that would be suitable deans. Now,
as I remember it—I haven’t said anything
about dean in there until the school of mines
wanted autonomy instead of a director. In
order to clarify, they inserted this plan—the
new president, you see, was to go ahead and
contact people. I think the reason behind the
thinking there was this: with the new president
coming in and Parker was only acting as such,
they wanted to lay the ground so that this new
man would have an opportunity to decide [in]
his own mind what was to be done.

Now, during that administration, there
was a request came in from some group of
Indians; I don’t remember what it was. But
they requested extension courses and Parker
recommended that we make a study of it.
He thought that there were possibilities,
but he didn’t have the least idea of what the
mechanics would be. He also thought that if he
started at one place, with all the reservations
over the state, he’d have difficulty and needed
organization. But he recommended that it be
given study. By the way, after that, the Regents
decided “no” because they had Indians in
Dresslerville, and there was no place—it’s—
oh, they were scattered from way up in Elko
County and Humboldt County, and up

My Association with the University of Nevada

101

around Quincy, down around Fallon, Schurz,
and Dresslerville, that I can remember.

They had been talking, even in Moseley’s
time, about creating a department of athletics,
and to set the department up on a certain
basis, but Moseley never got around to it.
Then this thing [came] up that I just told
you about. Parker got the people interested
in the athletics to work out a plan— call it
an athletic control specification, something
like that, and there was quite a bit of research
done. Anyway, it was delayed at that particular
time for further study. But he was the one that
recommended that we get this athletic control
together because you had people [scattered],
and students into the thing, and athletic
people down here, the coaches selected by
the alumni, and things like that, and salaries
to be paid by the University. I know that the
last meeting we had with him, he said and
recommended to us that the salaries should
be increased—that would be the first thing for
the new president to accomplish. Now, that’s
not much, but it covers a big field.

I think Parker did a remarkable job. I want
to tell you he knocked the eyes out of some of
these theorists when he came up with these
charts! He’d go into a department here, and
we got John Doe up here as the chairman,
and this fellow— his name is this, and this,
and this, scattered away out here [gesture].
It just showed how many they would have in
one division and how few in another. And, of
course, they tried to justify the plan because
the demands were there. More people wanted
more courses in English, more courses in
history, more courses in biological science.
Well, so much for that.

Malcolm Love

Now, Dr. Love came and attended the
last meeting under Parker, and he did talk

with Parker. Then he immediately began to
study our problems. Dr. Love had an unusual
background; I thought I’d look him up in
Who’s Who. Here was an interesting thing. He
got his AB from Simpson College in 1927 and
an honorary LL.D. in 1952, his AM from the
University of Iowa in ’33, his Ph.D. in 1939—it
was in education administration. He started
out as a teacher in a junior high school and
he taught two years then, and he was made
superintendent of schools in Iowa. Then in
’37, he was elected professor of education at
Toledo, Ohio. Then from there he was made
dean of administration at Illinois Wesleyan;
he was there four years. Then he got into the
service, and when he came back, he had been
elected dean of the college of arts and science at
Denver University. He came from there, here.
So, you see, he had a pretty broad background
in a special field of educational administration
to get into education first. Then he had a
teaching job and then an administrative job
oh the lower level; then he went to these
other universities. It looks as though he was
a sort of a transient person, but they were all
promotions. We were impressed because we
were looking for a good administrator as well
as an educationalist. Remember, that goes
clear back to Clark’s time. But this fellow’s
background in administration starts at the
lower level and goes progressively up.

This is an interesting thing, too. I thought
maybe we had an inauguration for him; then
I thought we didn’t have. I tried to find it.
There’s no record of it. Mrs. Love said, “No,
we don’t want anything like that,” but they had
a reception for him.

When Love came here and before he
assumed the presidency, he spent quite a time
studying the budget and all of those particular
things, and went out and met the alumni
wherever he could throughout the state. I
accompanied him on many of those for the

102

Silas E. Ross

alumni because I knew most of the alumni.
Among the things that impressed me about
the alumni and the citizens of the state—the
administrators, faculty, and students—they
thought as much of him as they did Moseley
They knew Moseley, his humor. I would say
Love was a little quieter—hed speak when he
was spoken to and asked intelligent questions.
If they asked him a question, he had an
answer. Now, these are from my own notes.
I found that notes were valuable after I got
started on the Board.

Among Love’s first recommendations was
this: we should plan to raise salaries in the
brackets for deans and directors. Too, that
employment of wives and faculty members of
the University be discouraged. Then about the
time that Parker was leaving, the U. S. Bureau
of Mines wanted a space on the campus. It
had been worked out satisfactorily and all,
but it had to come before the Board through
the recommendation of the president. He
recommended a parcel of about two and a
fourth acres of land on the northeast corner
of the campus be transferred to the U. S.
Bureau of Mines because they promised that
they would establish the western division
for confidential research. Boy, that caused a
lot of trouble! San Francisco was mad, and
everybody else.

He had inherited this friction in the
“overalls dean” business, and the extension
services, and so forth. There was quite a lot of
dissatisfaction with the extension service in
Las Vegas and he sensed it when he was down
there; he recommended that the whole thing
be reviewed and final determination made
on it. That was approved. He certainly proved
to me that he had a sense of perception. He
came right back and recommended that a
two-year agricultural program be set up
for certificate. He said studies would begin
and further consideration—he believed

it was good—and I emphasize, further
consideration.

I guess they had a committee on health
and something else on the campus, because
the [idea of a full-time health service] was
referred—oh, it was mentioned under
Moseley and again under Parker as a Reno
University full-time position. It was part-time
formerly. That’s settled.

It was also recommended that a complete
study be made of the use of the physical
plant of the University. His observation was
that many rooms were not occupied. He
thought—that thing was taught in Iowa—that
they should make these buildings work. For
instance, if you were a professor of chemistry,
you shouldn’t have a building and an office
and a lecture room all to yourself. There’d
be a place for you to lecture and such things
as that, but when you were through with it,
somebody else could use it. The laboratories,
where possible, should be made for more than
one type of work. For instance, you could
put the instruments and so forth away in the
cases, and then somebody else would take out
his equipment.

Now, during the Hartman administration,
the civil engineering building was constructed
and they had a dedication service. It was for
civil engineering and the plague will indicate
it; there was no cornerstones or anything.
Then during the Moseley administration, they
put a wing on it, and the people that were in
what is called the electrical department, and
mechanical, and so on were moved over to
this wing. He made that recommendation and
it was approved. He also recommended that a
study be made on the possibility of converting
that old electrical engineering building into
a home economics department because the
home economics department pretty well
crowded one floor of the agricultural building.
They approved the idea, but asked that they

My Association with the University of Nevada

103

do a thorough study as to whether it could be
done economically to provide a more efficient
department because it was an electrical
engineering building, made up of a lot of big
laboratories, and so on.

How, I have said that during the Moseley
administration that he recommended these
extension courses and so on. They got started
on it and he [Love] came up with a new idea.
He wanted to continue that, the regional
education in the professional field, because he
said there would be more than teachers, and
such things as that, where we could be of help.
He thought maybe it would be cooperative
work with mines or industry, or related
fields, and asked that the idea be approved in
principle, but then make a study of it.

Dr. Love heeded the recommendation
to the Board made by Colonel Parker that
they get busy to select a dean of the college
[of mining]. He looked over the field and
thought that we had a man with a marvelous
reputation in the mining field who lived in the
East, and he did some teaching and consulting.
Love interviewed him to see if he would be
interested and would accept the position, but
the gentleman turned the offer down because
he was happy where he was, and he was mostly
in a consulting field. So he interviewed Dean
Scheid and offered him the position. In the
interview, it was definitely understood that
he would be the dean of the School of Mines,
which included mining, metallurgy, geology,
and related divisions in the curriculum, and
also director of the bureau of mines, state
analytical laboratory, and many of the other
public services. In other words, he was dean
of the whole shooting works, or, rather, he was
dean of, and director, together.

Now, those were some of the
accomplishments. One of the first things
that he did was to make suggestions, or
raise questions with the Regents for study

and definition. One of his first was how to
work with the faculty. Now, he knew of the
difficulties. He knew that there was a problem.
So what he wanted was this: to have this
worked out and studied up and a conclusion
drawn. His title was something like this: to
set down certain guiding principles as a basis
for discussion, we expect decisions from the
presidents office to be made. So, you see, it
was pretty broad right there—how to work
with the faculty, how they wanted to construct
their budget. In other words, you’d figure that
some educational institutions had one want,
one, another, and they had the state law and
they knew the legislature would want to study
the requirements. Let’s find out; let’s do it.
What is the responsibility or responsibilities
of a state university? He wanted to arrive
at this particular thing. What programs
for students? Now, that was promoted very
carefully and very definitely by this division
and misunderstanding in the matter of the
department of athletics and all the athletic
divisions. And further, that “further study”
on this agricultural setup—that is, what
programs were still—’’what public relations?”
And I think by that that he meant this: “What
do you expect of me in the way of public
relations as a representative of the University?
Now, am I to handle it alone, or am I to
delegate responsibility?” (A three-point
question.) And, “Shall we enter this field, or
that field, or the other field?” In other words,
we’d go down and get into a squabble with two
divisions down there, should we take one side
or the other, or should we listen and get both
sides and then resolve them? Now, these are
notes of my own, and I’m guessing on that.

He recommended that we get busy and
create an athletic department which would
encompass all of these things. Now, the
athletics was a part of the department of
physical education. Correlate the things.

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Silas E. Ross

Then he raised a question, “What about
the faculty-student relationship?” I remember
I asked him a question about that. He said
he meant by that the cooperation between
members of the faculty and the students and
matters pertaining to the assignments, the
extra time which was necessary out of school
hours to help the student, and so forth. In
other words, the students that were behind
should attempt to cultivate the relationship,
cultivate this idea. It was a policy. And it was
up to the faculty member to give this time
outside of class time to help out.

Now, these are the accomplishments that
I can think of in his [Love’s] administration
up through to here. Now, someone had died
and had left money to establish a student
observatory. There was sufficient money
left as a gift to build this building. So they
established and authorized the erection of the
building. That’s the one that’s up on top of the
hill. (I went up to inspect it and I found an old,
old stake—survey— with my name on it and
several others.) The University bookstore was
established. Nellis Air Base, for instruction,
[was] called off for the present because of the
unsettled conditions at the base, and a lot of
moving of men. He created this department
of athletics and got the approval of his
recommendation. He submitted a policy on
tuition fees, and those were approved. Then
he set up future building plans as a policy
to be studied, and the policy of the Board of
Regents.

Now, this, I think, was a fine thing; he
recommended the appointment of Dr. C.
B. Hutchinson as the dean of the college of
agriculture, director of research, teaching,
and director of the agricultural extension
division, effective July 1, 1952. He was also
the director of the agricultural experiment
station, subject to the approval of Washington.
Now, Washington, if you remember, I told

you to begin with, didn’t approve intruding
in the agricultural experiment station. Dr.
Hutchinson had been head of the school of
agriculture down at Dixon [California] and
all of that kind of work under the University
of California. He later became president of
the whole shooting works. (He represented
the University of California here at the
inauguration of Dr. Moseley.) He’d retired.
Dr. Love thought that if he could get this
man, who’d had a broad background in the
entire agricultural field, and who was known
back in Washington and every place else, to
give us some time, it’d be a good thing, so, by
golly, Hutchinson accepted and went to work
in July, ’52.

This idea of an increase in the use of the
physical plant was completed, and when tried
out, was successful. Of course, there was
opposition to it, but the Regents approved
the president’s recommendation, and they
went ahead.

It was during his time that we had the first
notice from the Fleischmann estate that they
had set aside a certain sum of money towards
construction of a building for the school of
agriculture and that they would add to it from
time to time. That’s the Fleischmann trust.
Well, I said agriculture—it’s the agricultural
college and home economics. It was suggested
that we deposit the money in a Security
National Bank savings account and they’d
add to it from time to time. At that particular
time, the trust wanted preliminary plans and
estimates worked out by the administration
and the agricultural faculty. There was a
misunderstanding there, because they—the
faculty and all—had an idea that they were
going to get the entire Fleischmann trust in
time. [Laughing] By golly, they went after
it! They got it spelled out: one, two, three,
so that plan had to be changed, and all—it
wasn’t acceptable to the University. They

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105

were thinking about the building only, and
the other things could come later. So much
for that now.

The agricultural faculty set down certain
things for the building program. Love
suggested as a building program for 1951-53
the agricultural-biological science building.
Now, that’s before this other [Fleischmann]
offer was received. I remember they’d been
talking about classroom buildings. But he
thought that this was quite important. In
’53-’57, the student union building. Remodel
the old electrical building. ’55-’57, the
classroom building and men’s dormitories. A
corporation yard; now, that was a construction
plan. In that, he included the beautification
of the grounds. So all of this was approved in
principle. Oh, yes, they wanted a greenhouse
in there, too.

Love came in, also, and they drew up
tentative policies which were adopted by the
board of athletic control. Love approved it,
suggested the adoption of it tentatively, but
before it became a realistic thing, he wanted
the financial problems solved.

A particular time in his early
administration, we used to get delivery of oil
by rail from the Western Pacific, and they built
us a switch line from their main line. They
called it the “Gorman Shortline.” But then
they got these big tanks and they didn’t need
the switch any more, and this was abandoned.

Dr. Love resigned after a relatively brief
administration and went to California. I
have told about the circumstances of the
resignation in my chapter on the Board of
Regents.

Minard Stout

Dr. Love had been in contact with
President Stout, and he told him that the
dean of men was sick of being the dean of

student affairs—sick of his job. He wanted
to resign the job to get back into the English
department. That was Bob Griffin. He’d better
look for a person that was pretty well groomed
in this combination, because Griffin had come
up with very little experience. He had had a
lot of experience by appointment of Gorman
as sort of chief mogul, handling the military,
and so on, and financial setup. Then he was
appointed, I think, by Dr. Moseley. But he
didn’t like his job, and as things matured—.

You know, there was at one time quite a
bit of criticism at the University on the part
of students of journalism because its policies
were dictated by another department, of
which it was a subsidiary, so it was separated
from the English department. The department
of journalism was created, and Dr. Alfred IL
Higginbotham was put in charge in the school
of arts and science.

Then later, the same situation came up
with the department of speech in the English
department in the school of arts and science.
There were handicaps There, and the Regents
separated it and created the division or the
department of speech in the college of arts
and science. That put Higginbotham and his
associate into journalism, and put Griffin and
Miller into speech. This latter happened right
after Bob [Griffin] resigned as dean of men
and went back to the English department.

Anyhow, Or. Love advised with Dr.
Stout on this problem about a replacement
for Griffin. Stout said, “I’ve got the man.”
He doesn’t have his Ph.D., but he has this
experience. And I think he’s tops.”

So Dr. Love at that particular time
recommended that the Regents extend an
invitation to William D. Carlson [from the]
University of Minnesota to be dean of student
affairs. Of course, it was resolved by Stout
upon invitation of Love, because Stout came
to Reno and spent quite a bit of the summer

106

Silas E. Ross

with Dr. Love, studying the entire picture.
Carlson had suggested that he come down
to Reno and look over his responsibilities.
He accepted the position and took over
in November. All right, here’s the note:
Carlson to be on the campus the first week
in November to research and advise and be
on the campus in January ’53 to take up the
duties. (That’s when Griffin resigned, too.)

To get Stout’s background—I thought
I knew it, but I referred to Who’s Who in
America. He was born in Iowa, February
28, 1908. He received his BA degree from
Iowa State Teachers College in 1929, his MA
from the University of Iowa in 1933, and his
Ph.D. in Iowa in 1943. He got out of Teachers
College, he taught high school for a while, for
two years, and then he was a principal in one
of the junior highs for four years in another
place—I think that was Fort Dodge, Iowa.
Then he went to Rochester, where he took
over the University of Minnesota, I guess it
was—high school (like we used to have, prep),
and handled that. Oh, I’ll go further here.
Now, we’re ’34 to ’39. Then he was a lecturer at
the University of Minnesota and high school
principal there for five years; then he was a
visiting professor at the University of Missouri
in ’46, and then high school principal at the
University of Minnesota, lower division, and
was made assistant professor in ’48; associate
professor, 48 to ’52, professor in 52, and a
visiting professor at the University of Texas.
He was in the Navy during the war and then
came to the University of Nevada. He had a
splendid record, according to the University of
Minnesota men, the Iowa men, in always being
a success in the matter of administration, and
so on. I find also that—I don’t know what this
is—he had the Shattuck Centennial Award
for outstanding contribution to secondary
education. And, of course, when he was here in
Nevada, he was put on the advisory committee

of secondary school education. Anyway, so
much for Stout in that.

Now, Stout got out and met the people of
the state very much as did Moseley and Love.
I traveled with him at some of these meetings,
to be his contact, and they liked him. They
thought he looked quite young, and, of course,
he did look quite young. Yet there’s only a few
years’ difference between Love and him. Love
was born in ’04, and he was born in 1908. But
he had a smile and a twinkle in his eye. He was
a lot bolder; he was a good mixer. He could
tell pertinent stories, but I never heard him
tell a dirty story. He told stories to illustrate
a point. Well, he’d had marvelous contacts all
the way through.

One of the first things after Stout got
here was to dedicate the astronomical
observatory. By recommendation to the
Regents, they approved that it be named the
Blair Astronomical Observatory. That was
for Dr. Blair, who did so much fine work in
the physics department of the University of
Nevada.

Stout reiterated what was suggested by
Moseley, which was recommended by Love,
that faculty wives cannot be employed, he
didn’t have any inauguration ceremony.

Just about that time, we got notice of the
bequest of the Wesley Elgin Travis student
union building contribution, and the name
was to be known as the Jot Travis Student
Union building. The bequest also provided
that a like contribution should be made by
the state, and that was provided at the next
[legislative] session—at the first session after
the bequest. There was a reception for these
people. The funny thing—we used about the
same committee for all three receptions.

Another thing that pleased him very much
was that portrait of Dr. Love—where they
made a provision for a portrait of Dr. Love,
and Meyer-Cassell did it. I can remember

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107

this: $650, I had already thought that was
high, and we compared that with what these
artists charged for painting a portrait of the
governor; it was awfully low.

You see, Meyer-Cassell did this, but it was
I who got him busy to do the portraits of the
presidents from the beginning. I made the
appointment for Dr. Moseley with the son
of Dr. Brown to pay for that portrait, and
Meyer-Cassell worked from a picture then.
I made the appointment for Dr. Moseley
with the Jones boys, Herbert and Augustine,
to commission Meyer-Cassell to do one of
their father, the second president, just from
a picture. And by golly, he put Dr. Jones right
in the old seat and the old desk—. Oh, it’s a
marvelous thing, and they were tickled to
death. So they were pretty happy about that.

Now, during a previous administration
(and I don’t know just when, but it goes
way, way back, probably the Hartman
administration), the Shrine were given
permission to have the Shrine Circus on the
University campus for funds to go to the
Shrine Hospital for crippled children. They
always did some little thing, but the first part
of the Stout administration, they gave two
banks of lights for the Mackay Stadium. You
know, they contributed something every year
towards it. They finally bought the reporter’s
booth up on top and such other things;
they gave a piano or an organ to the music
department, and so on down the line.

I forgot to say this: that in this department
of athletics, they had recommended skiing
and boxing as a part of the part-time sport.
Stout was to recommend these things, and
he did it on the basis of the recommendation
of the athletic faculty. He recommended
Chelton Leonard for ski coach and Jim Olivas
for boxing coach, and took out of the general
fund the fees. If I remember correctly, they
paid Leonard $500 and Jimmy $700.

Now, then, in this agreement they had in
the creation of the athletic department, the
graduate manager was to be appointed from
a list submitted by the athletic faculty to the
president to be appointed for approval. James
McNabney was made graduate manager at a
salary of $5,100 per year. Also, I find in some of
my own notes—and I dug until I found it—that
in this whole athletic setup, they provided a
salary for the president of the student body. At
the same time, Stout recommended the approval
of a salary of sixty-five dollars a month.

Now, Joe Moose was brought in here to
head the chemistry department by Moseley,
and then the University created the graduate
school. Stout was pretty much impressed with
Moose for the reason that he had a splendid
record academically, a splendid record as
a teacher, and also a splendid record as a
businessman in numerous fields of industry,
also experience as director of research and
graduate study. He was appointed to chair
this department.

One of Stout’s first recommendations,
in keeping with Moseley and Love, was that
there should be a general raise in salaries—
clear across the board, in this particular case,
for the people employed at the University.

The Las Vegas extension program was
established. James R. Dickinson was in the
English department in Reno. You probably
remember him or his wife; she was quite a
songbird. He was sent down to Las Vegas
to establish the extension program and was
going to teach English, geography, and a few
things like that. They used the high school
during evenings to teach the subjects. That
was the beginning. Dr. Stout recommended
that we continue the statewide educational
program.

The contract was let for the remodeling of
Lincoln Hall, Manzanita Hall, and the Mackay
School of Mines building.

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Silas E. Ross

Dr. Stout made contact with the United
States Office of Education for help to assist in
a study of the educational needs in Nevada.
Dr. William A. Wood was assigned to Nevada,
and with Dr. Stout, made a trip all over the
state to study the situation. Dr. Wood made
the recommendation that the name be
changed from the “school of education” to
the College of Education under a dean. Then
he made the recommendation that we have
a dean of the statewide development. Those
things were approved by the Regents.

About that time, there was a move on foot
to change the name of the Mackay School of
Mines to the “school of mineral sciences” or
“school of mineral industries.” And it was
argued back and forth, and back and—. Stout
recommended very definitely we would retain
the name “Mackay” with reference to the
school of mines. That was approved.

Then he recommended that this dean of
the school of education, they add a little bit
to his name and give him—also make him
director of the summer sessions. It used to be
that theyd have to appoint somebody.

Now, I’d like for a few moments to
jump to some of the appointments that
he recommended. Let me think. This was
William O. Carlson as dean of student affairs.
That, of course, was supported by Love, too.
They brought him from the University of
Minnesota. He brought in Garold Holstine,
who was a dean of the college of education
in the University of South Dakota (and)
Dr. William R. Wood from the U. S. Office
of Education as professor and dean of the
Statewide Development Program. He took
him out of this department of educational
research back in Washington, D. C. It shows
the type of men they were getting. Then Dr.
Wood, dean of arts and science and professor
of mathematics, wanted a little relief and said
that he was going to retire at a certain time. Dr.

Ralph Irwin was appointed as assistant dean.
Then Wood retired, Irwin was appointed
dean and professor of arts and science. C. S.
Hutchinson resigned. I think the trouble was
this: he was in favor of this two-year setup
and it again came up and the academic faculty
turned him down. Dean Hutchinson was a
strong individual and he wanted to just forget
this and do it anyhow. I think Dr. Stout told
him that he had to observe protocol and he
could change it later. Anyhow, Hutchinson
resigned and so we had to look for a man.
They made a contact with John R. Bertrand
of Texas A and M, who had a very fine record
back there (and I don’t know whether he was
an assistant to the dean, or what, or subdean),
and he came out here. He was made dean and
professor of the school of agriculture and
agricultural research, teaching, and so on
down the line. And he worked for a period of
time, and he ran against the former difficulty.
It bothered him, and he inherited some of
this trouble we had back when they were
quarreling between the extension, teaching,
and experimental station—that goes back to
the Creel episode. Then he resigned, and by
golly, Dr. James Adams, who was dean of the
college of agriculture in Texas, accepted the
position.

Now, Stout wanted a dean for the
school of business. That’s one of the first
recommendations that he made, too, along
with education, that we revitalize the school
of business under a dean or professor. He
had heard of this man Weems. Of course,
Minard got around and he knew a lot of
things, and he knew that Weems was offered
a position or else a retainer as a consultant
for one of the large firms back East. Oh, it’s
[one of] the largest hotel associations in hotel
management and restaurants. They tried to
hire him and he said no, that he didn’t want it.
He liked teaching, but he would do this. He’d

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109

undertake the study, and they would supply
him with needed information, and hed use
his students for researching. He came up with
a marvelous solution. Then they tried to hire
him outright, and he turned it down. Stout
had known him, you see. He got in touch
with Weems and interested him, and he left
the deanship of the school of business Eat the)
University of Mississippi out there and came
to Nevada. The school of business has grown
immensely since Weems took over.

So Moose was in as dean of graduate
study. Stout brought Helen M. Gilkey here
as professor and dean of the Orvis School of
Nursing from New England. He promoted
Howard Blodgett from head of the civil
engineering department to professor and
dean of the College of Engineering; that’s after
Stan Palmer retired. Then when Dickinson
didn’t want to assume the responsibility of the
Las Vegas unit, Dean Carlson was promoted
to the unit at the University of Las Vegas. Then
Sam Basta [was named] as dean of student
affairs. Now, you see the [fine] type of men
Stout was bringing to our University.

Another thing had happened. Dr. Post
retired as the head of the department of
music while Minard was here, and it was
really just about a two-man department. In
the meantime, we got a little windfall. Stout
researched it and called one fellow that was a
pianist, and then this Mr. Macy. The pianist
was number one, Macy was number two.
The pianist didn’t last at all. Macy has created
that department and developed it. he’s been
quite a success, I think, because I’ve talked to
musicians and alto the students.

This college of agriculture money came
in and we finally agreed on plans, and on
the recommendation of the president (that’s
President Stout), it was to be named the Max
C. Fleischmann College of Agriculture. The
unit in the home economics was named the

Sarah Hamilton Fleischmann School of Home
Economics.

After we obtained this ground that
connected us with the Evans people, we
entered into a negotiation with a fellow by the
name of Capurro (this was during the Stout
administration) similar to the one that we
entered into with the Evans estate to get that
additional ground north from the Clark Field
that extended down into the swale. We were
able to purchase it at so much down and so
much each biennium with a very low rate of
interest, and the contract was kept open. The
contract was this: that he, Capurro, be permitted
to use the pasture and this land that was under
contract without any expense to him, except
the assessment on water rights, and so on. We
purchased forty acres to begin with, and later, we
purchased eighteen more. Here’s an interesting
thing: the matter of water rights came up, and
Capurro held that he didn’t sell any water rights.
He came to me about it, and I said, “I don’t know.
You’d better look at the contract or talk to your
attorney. But usually, when you buy land and
you have water rights behind that, you sell the
water rights with it.” (Laughing] It went to court,
and that’s what happened.

Now, an interesting thing—Dr. Stout
recommended a general raise in salaries
across the board. That was the time when
they raised his salary at the University. That
was July ’53, or about that time. Then later,
he made the same recommendation, but in
April, 1954, the Regents changed his title
from president to president of the university
of Nevada and professor of education, with
full tenure as said professor. In other words,
they gave him tenure. You notice in his
recommendations on his deans, as “the dean
and professor of—.” This made it possible for
an administrator to resign as such and still
retain tenure as a professor in his particular
field.

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Silas E. Ross

I was amazed that Dr. Stout was able to
reach out and get such reputable people to join
us in the different schools and on the different
faculties. Theyd had splendid positions with
an equivalency and rank in an older and
larger university. I asked each one at the time,
tow did you happen to make up your mind
to come here into a smaller university with
perhaps not the physical assets or laboratories
to carry on after you were established
elsewhere?” And without exception, they
said because of the opportunity to work
under a man such as Dr. Stout, who is so
well grounded in administration and the
principles of education and his desire to see
that the University function in all fields in the
state, which made it their opportunity, too, to
get out and help develop the programs.

Another thing about it was this. Stout
did look over the local material that we had
here, and you’ll note that he did appoint some
from our own faculty into administrative
positions. He must have had confidence in
Dr. Moose and his background. He must
have had confidence in Dr. Irwin and his
background. He must’ve had confidence in
Dr. Blodgett when he was the head of the CE
department and he made him dean of the
college of engineering.

Well, that is an interesting development,
the number of appointments, executive
appointments, that Dr. Stout made. Dr.
William D. Carlson [is] still connected with
the University, but at Nevada Southern, and
Dr. Garold Holstine left here for an executive
position in Washington and is now president
of a university. Dr. William A. Wood was
taken from us to be made president of the
University of Alaska. Dean John R. Bertrand
went to a school up in the Ozarks, as president
of the institution. Dr. Joe Moose retired, as
has Dr. James E. Adams, when they reached
the age of sixty-five. It would seem that our

fellow [C. J. Armstrong] got rid of these
deans as fast as he could. Miss Helen Gilkey
left here. She was the first dean, you know, of
the Orvis School of Nursing here. She was a
New England girl, and she left and went East
and took over the management of a hospital
in the Eastern area. Blodgett is retired. Every
one of these men, unless they retired up here
at sixty-five, stepped into better jobs. I really
think that that’s a record.

You know, Minard was tenacious. He
would propose these things and receive
permission to pursue them. When he
determined the kind of a man he wanted, by
gosh, he stayed with him ’til he got him.

There were some other events connected
with Dr. Stout’s administration which seem
more properly to belong in the section on the
Board of Regents.

University of Nevada
Board of Regents, 1931-1957

Late in 1931, Walter Pratt, who had been
elected in 1924 to serve a ten-year term as
a Regent, had moved to California and was
employed there, notified the governor that
he was resigning. The governor immediately
contacted him and said that he accepted
with regret, but to please not release the
information until he, the governor, had an
opportunity to appoint a successor, and then
let the governor release him. In the last part
of ’31, I received a letter from the governor,
sent special delivery. That evening, Mrs. Ross
and I were out to a party. We had a babysitter
and she signed for the letter and gave it to
me when we came in. After we took the
babysitter home, I opened the letter, read it,
and I handed it to Mrs. Ross. In it, Governor
Balzac said that he wanted to appoint me to
the vacancy caused by the resignation of Mr.
Pratt, and he wanted me to keep it a secret

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111

until such time as he announced it. I reread
the letter and handed it over to Mrs. Ross and
she said to me, “Are you going to accept it?”

And I said, “No.”

And she said, “Why?”

I said, “Well, for the reason that I’ve always
advocated that there should be an alumni
of the University on that Board of Regents,
and we’ve only had one or two up until that
particular time.”

And she said, “I think you’d better sleep

‘ 4 - ”

on it.

So the next morning, when I awakened,
I looked over, and Mrs. Ross was by my side,
looking right at me, and she asked me very
definitely if I had changed my mind. I said,
“No, I haven’t changed it.”

And she said, “Do you mind if I suggest
something to you?”

And I said, “No, it’s all right.”

She said, “I think that you should accept
that irregardless of your former statement.
Governor Balzar wants you or he wouldn’t
have appointed you. He will make the
announcement when he does make the
appointment. He isn’t going to be bothered
with other people. You worked for his election
and it’s up to you to support him in every way
that you can.”

I called the governor on the telephone and
said that I was coming over. I had this meeting
with him and told him what my attitude had
been. And he said, “I don’t care what it has
been. They can’t say that you solicited this
job, because I’ve solicited you and I want you
to take it.” So I took it.

Now, the interesting thing was that after I
was appointed, I had a half a dozen men come
to me and tell me that they suggested me to
the governor. Some of them were faculty.
I took over and those were the conditions
under which I was appointed to fill the
unexpired term.

I attended the first meeting and listened
very attentively, but whenever there was
a vote, I asked to be excused from voting
because I was there to learn and couldn’t
vote intelligently on any of these questions.
And that was granted. But I asked a lot of
questions so that I could be prepared. [The]
first [thing] that I asked for was a copy of the
rules and regulations of the Board and of their
operations, also a flow chart of the operation
of the University.

I read this information thoroughly
and I observed that on recommendation,
the Board had set their regular meetings
on the recommendation of the president.
There weren’t many meetings at the time.
One in particular that I recall (there were
two) was one that we had to meet two
days before Baccalaureate Sunday and the
graduation exercises on Monday to approve
the graduates. And the other, the year that
we were to submit a budget to the legislature,
we had a meeting in the fall, late in the
year, to go over the proposed budget that
was going to be sent to the legislature. The
important interim between these meetings
didn’t impress me as being good. Then I
asked for the minutes, and in one of them
I noticed that there was no agenda at the
meeting, excepting the paper from which Dr.
Clark read. It appeared that policies and so
on were established, and afterward approval
was asked for. This policy didn’t appear to
be quite right for this reason, that the Board
couldn’t be as familiar with the operation as
it should. The reports that we acted on were
the report of the president and the report of
the comptroller, and that was about all. Then
if they had special committees appointed
to do research or something like that, they
read the report of the committee and the
president’s acquiescence in it, and we were
asked to approve them.

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Silas E. Ross

Let me say here, at this time—this takes us
back a little bit—in reading the minutes, it was
of much concern to me that the discussions
that were recorded concerning the type of
heating plant to be installed were brief and
incomplete. Most of the discussion was on
whether we should put in steam or hot water.
We had experts on it, and some said steam and
some said hot water. Mr. Pratt very definitely
seemed to be in favor of hot water. Something
had to be done and they turned it over to Mr.
Pratt to negotiate the thing, and he decided
on the hot water. And it was installed. I gave
the matter further study. The hot water system
wasn’t in a gravity system. It was gravity up
to a certain point, but when they got as far as
Manzanita Hall, they had to pump the water
across and back to the heating plant, which
meant that the circulation wasn’t uniform, and
the like of that. I had heard that there was quite
a bit of criticism of the heating plant in Lincoln
Hall and the little hospital up there (they
called it the infirmary) and the dining hall
and Manzanita Hall. However, they got along
with it until additional buildings were erected.
The heating plant was not large enough to
accommodate the new buildings. Further than
that, it is hitched up in such a way that the only
places that had heat at night up until about
ten-thirty was Lincoln Hall, the dining hall,
and Manzanita. In other words, there wasn’t
enough heat to accommodate classrooms and
laboratory buildings. A decision was then
made to convert the system to steam instead of
hot water. With the new buildings to be added,
it was determined that the original boiler was
not large enough to handle the increased load.

From the advice of builders and architects,
and also plumbing and heating engineers,
the Regents decided to install individual
heating plants in some of the buildings, thus
decreasing the heating load on the original
plant. And all of these were steam heated.

Now, back to the procedure of the
Board before I went on it. I was looking
for something that I could tie to to show
that there should be more meetings of the
Board, or special meetings called whenever
an emergency came up. The first [thing] I
discovered was that they were doing a lot of
work in the basement of the Mackay School
of Mines. I saw what was going on, and I
asked the head of the school of mines what
was going on and he told me. He said, “Well,
we’re remodeling this whole area downstairs
and enlarging it, and we’re going to put in a
museum and other laboratories.”

I asked him where the money came from
and he said, “Well, I got a direct appropriation
from Mr. Mackay.”

I then went over to the president’s office to
find out the details of the project. The Board
minutes didn’t show anything. The president
wasn’t altogether familiar with the entire
transaction. The matter was placed before the
Board at the next meeting. They decided that
the procedure was irregular and instructed
the head of the department to submit plans
and specifications, and such other details, and
justify them to the president and the Board
before proceeding, and that the money would
be handled through the Board of Regents.

Another time was this: the Board members
were talking about an additional athletic field
and decided to place it on top of the hill, east
and south of the training quarters on land that
the University had purchased from the Evans
estate. We called it Clark Field. Sometime
later, I happened to be wandering around
the campus and noticed the field was under
construction, but not on the location which
had been specified by the Regents.

I asked Mr. Gorman how about it and
he replied, “I don’t know anything about it.”
He checked into it and he said, “Well, the
president has entered into this contract.”

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113

So I went to the president and asked him
why, and he said, “Well, I decided that it ought
to go over here.”

Well, now, there again was a little error. If
we’re going to do a thing like that, it should
be reported to the Board, and the Board
should take action in order to make it right.
It shouldn’t be changed without approval of
the Board. A lot of little things like that made
it necessary for us to try to adjust these rules
and regulations and get them up to date.

The Board adopted a policy of meeting
oftener and said that whenever any major
project came up, the Board should be called
in and the administration should receive the
approval of the Board before they went ahead.
More meetings of the Board were called. And
if anything came up—an emergency, the
chairman of the board would call a special
meeting of the executive committee in the
area. Then they began to have agendas.

The Regents also became interested in
reading back on the contracts. And there they
found it was the policy of the president, when
he met a good man and couldn’t meet the
salary, he’d offer a certain amount of money
and verbally promise him a promotion the
next year and the beginning of tenure. Well,
that created quite a bit of dissension among
those that were working with the AAUR The
administration then brought it up before the
Board for confirmation. Clark said that he
had to do those things in order to get [good
people]. So we suggested that he say that he
would recommend this plan to the Board for
an increase in salary on any one of these. Dr.
Clark graciously did that, but I think he got
in the habit of doing these things because he
had to take action in the past.

As soon as I became a member of the
Board, I thought, “Well, now, if you’re gonna
be a member of the Board, you should
know something about the operation of the

institution.” And the first thing I wanted to
know was the salaries of the professors in
the departments and their resources and the
contracts (if they had any) and the conditions,
and how they allocated their funds, and such
things as that. So I went to Mr. Gorman to
get that information and he said, “You’ll have
to give me a little time because I take my
instructions from the president and I’m not
supposed to give out all these things.

But he did go to the president on it, and he
said, “Mr. Ross is asking for this information
and I can’t give it to him because of your order.
Now, what am I to tell him? Tell him that I
don’t know, I can’t give it? It’s not a matter of
record, or something like that?” And he said,
“If I do that, Mr. Ross is going to have to come
before the Board another time and ask for
the resignation of Mr. [Gorman] so that he’d
get somebody in there who could supply that
information. Now, on the other hand, if I tell
him that you have ordered that we shouldn’t
give out this information, he’d probably
come before the Board and say, This is my
understanding, and if that is so, let’s ask for
the resignation and get a man who will do it.

So Dr. Clark says, “Well, give it to him;
but just in general, not too much in detail.”

Now, a thing happened later, and I’ll
allude to it, that may have been the reason
why the administration, at least— and some of
the professors—thought that I was an enemy
of the University.

Well, we go on through that and we
bump into the matter of appearing before the
legislature. The president and Mr. Gorman
used to represent the University over there.
Now, [at] a later time, Dr. Clark was not at
the University, and Dean Adams was acting
President, and I went to him to get information
on the number of teachers that were in English
and all the different departments of the
different schools and the salary breakdown.

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Silas E. Ross

And Adams gave me the names of these people
and the teaching load, but he couldn’t give me
the breakdown on it. When Dr. Clark came
back, Adams told him. Well, Clark came down
right away, and he said, “Now, what you have
is a copy. But,” he said, “I’m the only one that’s
supposed to give it out. Dr. Adams didn’t give
you everything, and he wants you to know you
can have everything you want.”

And I said, “No, that isn’t what I want.”

And he said, “That’s really a gentlemen’s
agreement,” and so forth.

And I said, “I want to know.”

And he said, “Well, I’ll get you something.”
And he did. He explained to me at the time
that there was probably a division in the
faculty and a division in the townspeople,
and they kept all of this quiet in order to
keep down unfriendly discussion. In other
words, that’s when they realized that there
was something wrong.

Well, then, Dr. Clark and Mr. Gorman
used to go over and meet with the legislature,
and the finance committee of the Senate sent
word (and I don’t know whether they went to
Mr. [George] Brown with it or not; he was the
chairman at the time) to leave the president
at home and have Mr. Gorman present the
budget and explain it. Now, when I found that
out, I wanted to know why. Finally, Senator
Dressier told me. That committee consisted of
Senator Dressier, and Senator Tracy Fairchild,
Senator Getchell (he was alive at that time),
and Senator John Miller. And Dressier, whom
I knew, I asked him one day about it, and he
said, “Well, when Dr. Clark comes over and
we ask him questions, he talks in generalities
and all around the subject, we don’t get the
facts. Gorman has them and he can give them
to me and prove it with figures. We’ve wasted
a lot of time on that thing.”

So that was done, quietly. And really, it
was surprising, the results. The unfortunate

part of it, though, the first thing I knew, Mr.
Brown had asked me if I wouldn’t go over
with Mr. Gorman.

And I said, “Well, you’re the one that’s
supposed to go.”

“Well,” he said, “I can’t get away, and,” he
said, “damn it, “You know everybody in the
state and they know you.”

So I would go over, but I made it my
business to keep my mouth shut unless they
asked me a question. If I couldn’t answer the
question, I referred it to Gorman. If we couldn’t
clear it, I’d really get the information. There
were little things, don’t you see? The result
was that we got along pretty well, but that
bothered Dr. Clark. Then it began to bother
some of the faculty. We found them going over
there and introducing bills—rather, fathering
bills that hadn’t been approved by the Board
and the President, but making claims for their
departments, and so on. Now, there weren’t
many, but there were a few.

Dr. Church came before us and wanted
the Regents to accept a deed for ground all
the way from Mrs. Dinsmore’s property clear
up to the back of the Scrugham property as a
site for a memorial art gallery. He appeared
before the Board; he appeared before different
groups. I thought I knew something about this
thing. I suggested to the Regents that we defer
action on it until we could investigate a little
bit. I found that [Church was in) no position
to issue a deed to this. This property that Dr.
Church owned was deeded outright, see, but
the others, like the Lattimer Club, some of
those—part of the Scrugham property and the
Dinsmore property was conditional. In other
words, they were going to think about it; they
might like it, and so on. But particularly the
Lattimer Club, that was conditional, and Mrs.
Dinsmore never did sign that form.

So when I reported back these conditions,
I said, “I think before we would accept

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115

anything like this that we ought to go to the
legislature and get an enabling act to’ accept it
and have all of the conditions in there.”

So they introduced the bill and the
legislature amended the bill, carrying the
clause that at no time would there be any
expansion of the building, erection of the
building, care of the building, or street
improvements, or anything like that against
the state through the University Now, when
the [Church] memorial building was built,
these people wanted the University to deed
it back to them. This was during the last
president’s [Armstrong’s] administration,
right after he came here. They searched the
minutes and such things as that, and some
member of the Board said, “Why don’t you
talk to Si Ross about it?”

So one day at Rotary, Armstrong asked me
it he could talk to me about this transaction.
And I said, “Yes.”

And he said, “Some day after Rotary, I’ll
let you know ahead, and you and Roy Hardy
come on up and we’ll talk it over.”

So we made the date and went up there.
So he asked Roy, he said, “Now, what do you
know about this?”

And Roy said, “Don’t ask me, ask Si.”

I gave him the story—the whole thing,
the whole commotion, and I said, “There’s
a lot of this that probably wouldn’t be in the
minutes because a lot of this deal that went
on was verbal, and there’d be no record in
the papers,” and so forth. “But these are the
conditions: As it stands today, you hold this
[deed], providing—.Now, they know that we
are not going to do anything up there because
we have this building. They want it back.
Now, we were able to accept it by statute. My
suggestion to you is to take this request to
the legislature and get them to pass the bill
authorizing the Board to return the property
to them.” And that was done.

Then I asked them, “Now, is there anything
more?”

And Armstrong turned to Roy and said,
“You fellows are right.” He said, “Gosh,
just like that!” So that thing had not been
questioned any more. This happened later.

Well, another thing that I did as soon as I
got on the Board, I became interested in the
University property. And I wanted to know—
Well, I stayed with it ’til I found out—the
amount of ground and the description that was
given by Evans, and Then the little pieces as they
were added from time to time, [and] with that
done, the purchase of the Evans estate, of that
piece of property down in the swale. Then the
gift of Mackay for this piece of ground adjacent
and up on the hill. He had wanted to go over
and purchase the St. Thomas cemetery (at that
particular time, Virginia Street was dead-end)
and make that contiguous to the University and
a part of the University campus. Mr. Mackay
himself approached the priest in charge here,
and the conditions were such that Mackay said
no, and instead, he bought this piece of the
Evans estate. Later, we acquired more ground
from the Evans estate on a contract basis, took
it out by the year, as we did the property to the
north. But that’s beyond Clark.

That took me into the early days of the
Agricultural Experiment Station. I remember
when that was down on the site of that piece
of ground between the Asylum Road west and
up to about where that Kietzke Lane crosses
that bridge and between the railroad track and
the Truckee River. That had been purchased
by the state for the state prison. They started
to build a state prison there, and when that
location was changed to Carson City, they
used that as an agricultural experiment station
farm. But the department in Washington said
it wasn’t good enough and they’d have to do
something better, or the University would lose
its appropriation.

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Silas E. Ross

The Board then decided on this piece
of ground that they now have off of Valley
Road. That ground was originally a part of
the ground that belonged to the English
Mill syndicate that came in here. Mr. Enoch
Morrill and his associates had purchased all
of that ground. Morrill Avenue was named
after him. He and his attorney made Washoe
County a proposition that they would turn
this property over to them for a certain
amount of money, providing it was used by
the University for experimental purposes. But
if they ever ceased to do that particular thing,
it reverted to Morrill, his heirs and assigns.
And that is why they didn’t take a piece off
the north end of it for Sadler way, and why,
during the first World War, they didn’t take
the south of it off for housing. And also why
Reno High School wasn’t put out there. It was
that conditional deed.

And I want to tell you, I stayed with it until
I knew every corner of any piece of land that
had been acquired by the University, even the
piece of land that they got from the Wheeler
estate. That’s, oh, quite a bit before Hendrick
came into the picture. I knew the water rights
then, too, and that was quite important. I can
still throw up an issue on it.

Well, now, going back to this point that
I made a little while ago, -that legislative
finance committee made this request. By that
time, there was a division in the faculty. It
again cropped up. I don’t know what caused
it, but there was a lack of cohesion and
cooperation, and some of the departments
wanted to expand and put in more courses,
and such things as that. There was a little
quarrel between the arts and sciences and
the school of education, and the engineering
school and agriculture, and then the faculties
had overlapped—for instance, some arts
and sciences’d be teaching some subjects in
agriculture and engineering. It sprang up

there, and that division was there. It wasn’t
good, but there were a few up there that hewed
to the line and they were familiar with both
sides.

Now, another thing came out during
Dr. Clark’s [administration] there, and Dr.
Stubbs’s. As I’ve said elsewhere, when Dr.
Stubbs was president, a man by the name
of David Russell, a stockman and a range
man from Lassen County, a bachelor, who
did business with the Washoe County Bank,
made a will to create a sort of a trust at the
University, the income from which could
be used for necessary things to help the
University along.

I don’t know what ever became of all of the
fund, but I know it was difficult getting back
some of the investment. When Dr. Clark was
in charge of the fund, he invested it and he
was supposed to be pretty good on economy.
Under the terms of the will, he didn’t have to
account to the Board for this, and he made
the investment in good faith. He bought
certain securities, and among those were
some foreign bonds (from], I think, South
and Central America. There was income for
a while, and they had difficulty and these
bonds seemed worthless—they couldn’t pay
up. Some of them were repudiated, as far
as that’s concerned. Some of the countries
did retrieve, and finally, while I was on the
Board right after Dr. Clark retired, we got
some money out of them. But that worried
Dr. Clark, and Mr. Gorman, with a couple
of the Regents, investigated the law relative
to the investment of trust funds in foreign
securities. Our law was silent, but our state
was following the custom of other states, and
if I remember correctly, the other states had a
condition that they could not invest any trust
money in foreign bonds, which meant that
Dr. Clark hadn’t abided by the law. And that’s
when he began to break and worry.

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117

Then when we had this depression all
over the country, banks were failing, and such
things as that, our state was pretty hard hit
financially The Board met and discussed the
budget and directed the president to inform
the heads of the departments, “Do not ask for
any increase in budget for the biennium,” and
to pare every place that they could so that it
wouldn’t be such a burden on the state and we
could cooperate with the state in getting back
together. You will find that in the minutes. So
Dr. Clark said that he would do that and he
would make a report. “Now, in view of this,”
he told Gorman, “don’t say any more than
you have to.”

I got to wondering. The president agreed
that he would do this thing and report at the
next meeting. In the meantime, I sought the
assistance of the comptroller and the books to
investigate to see what the budgets had been
in the past and the increase of the budget and
the cause of these increases, and such things
as that, salary, so that I could analyze them
and determine in my own mind where they
might be cut—or, rather, suggest that they be
cut. I had all of those things, and Mr. Gorman
had a tabulation of it, too. So we went into the
meeting and transacted the regular business.
Then we came up to this matter, and Dr. Clark
reported to us that he had taken it up with
the faculty and had obtained their consent
and cooperation and that he suggested that
they cut their budget. He also suggested that
if it was suggested he cut some salaries, that
it shouldn’t apply to these lower divisions
because they were getting just a small stipend,
but only the heads of the departments. Now,
if you look in the minutes, you ought to find
this, but my recollection is that the faculty
came in voluntarily and took a ten percent
cut in their annual salary. Dr. Clark didn’t take
ten percent, but I think it was $2,500. “Cut my
salary by $2,500.” (And incidentally, when we

got back on our feet again, Dr. Clark said, “I
don’t need a raise. Leave it where it is.”)

Now, an interesting thing, after this was
done, Mr. Williams spoke up and he said,
“How, what shall I report to the papers?
They’re waiting for me. They want to interview
me, and all,” such things as that. “And please
tell me what I’m to say.”

I looked up and I said, “Mr. Williams, I
don’t think there’s anything for you to say, or
any of the rest of us. This has been an action
of the faculty and the president, and it was
suggested by this Board. The only people
that make this release is the chairman of the
board and the president of the University.”
And it was done.

As we walked out of that meeting, we
passed Miss Beckwith, who was secretary to
the president. She’d been taking notes, and she
came up with a tear in her eye and grabbed
both my hands and said, “Oh, I knew it, I
knew it, I knew it all the time.” She was crying.

I said, “Miss Beckwith, what’s the matter?”

Well, she said, “you proved it today that
you weren’t an enemy of the University. They
said you were, but I knew you weren’t.”

And dear old Dr. Clark overheard that,
and Lord, he rushed down to my office right
away to explain. Now, I guess my nosiness
probably might’ve confirmed the idea that I
might be an enemy.I’ve never been an enemy
of the University.

When we went over to the legislature with
our budget, by golly, they almost hugged us.
We were the one institution in the state that
volunteered a minimum budget and cut in
salaries. We, of course, were one of the largest
beneficiaries. But it gave us pretty good
ground for the future.

Another thing had happened sometime
after that (during the Hartman period),
increased entrance requirements. A young
chap applied to the University later and he

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Silas E. Ross

did not have qualified credits. He was denied
registration and told that hed have to make
up these deficiencies and then come back to
register. He went elsewhere. But anyhow, the
father, Ralph Lattin, was in the legislature the
next year and he demanded an investigation. He
was in the senate. A committee was appointed
to make this investigation. The Board was
present for it, but the only one to show up
was Lattin, the chairman of the committee.
Between the time of the appointment of the
committee and the date of the hearing, Mr.
Lattin individually gathered rumor, complaint,
and gossip from every source possible. At
the time of the meeting, he appeared alone
and began to lay the law down on the Board
and the president. It was my pleasure for the
Board, with the consent of the Board, to tell Mr.
Lattin that we were ordered to meet with the
appointed committee, not one man, and wed
be perfectly happy to listen and lay everything
we have on the table when he could bring his
committee to the University so that everybody
could have a look at the problem if they choose
to look at it—not just one person to make a
report for the entire committee. “You mean to
tell me...” and so on. He said that.

Well, he hurt us, all right, in the legislature
a little bit, but not as badly as I think he
expected to hurt us. Because there’re always
some people in a legislature that don’t get to
the bottom of everything. I guess they thought
that he was mistreated, and so on. As a matter
of fact, I don’t think that any individual should
alone investigate a University department.

But anyhow, when the legislature was
over, whenever I would meet Mr. Lattin, he’d
go over on the other side of the street. One
time, I met him in a group and he got as far
away from me as he could and I made him
speak to me. I went over and took him by
the hand and told him, “I’m glad to see you,”
and so on. And I said, “Well, we’ve had our

differences, but they’ve been taken care of and
there’s no need of carrying this on.”

Now, I ought to call your attention to
this, that during the period of 1943-44, Dr.
Clark was ill part of the time and we had
three Regents die within that period of time.
Their places were filled by competent people.
But at that particular time, the chairman
of the board had to make pretty near all
the decisions. Maybe that’s where I got the
reputation as a dictator. I had to make them.
But honestly, I even checked into the social
side. Mrs. Ross and I, at our own expense,
enter tamed dignitaries. And you know,
I didn’t have to do it, but the other Board
members were glad we did do it. And they
approved it. We didn’t overlook that.

We now come practically to the end
of the Clark administration. I think I gave
you the list of the buildings that were
constructed. I told you about the enlargement
of the departments, the increases upon
the curriculum, the buildings, some of the
services, and so forth, all along the line. And
I brought you up and showed that there was a
division in the faculty towards the end, which
made it unpleasant for Dr. Clark. These later
years were years of worry. But they were not
years of lack of effort. He tried. And it was
during that time, you know, that we received
the Fleischmann scholarships. And I think
I mentioned that it was during that time we
knew that Alice McManus [Clark], the wife of
the head of the Great Northern, had decided
to go ahead with a gift to the university and
pledged her husband to build this library and
name it after her.

During the time that Hartman came into
the presidency, we had three deaths in the
Board of Regents and three replacements,
which meant that he had two of the old Board
to work with and three new. I suggested that
he prepare an agenda for meetings of the

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119

Board and mail it to each Board member
several days before the meeting. He did
that meticulously. Further than that, I never
saw him move one way or the other beyond
carrying out the policies that were laid down
to him by the Board of Regents. If there was a
decision that was his duty to make, he would
make it. If it was a doubtful situation, hed say,
“I will refer it to the Board of Regents at the
next meeting.”

During the time that Dr. Hartman was
adjusting the physics department and then
established in the president’s home, Mrs.
Ross and I took over a lot of the official
entertainment.

When Dr. Olmsted died, the governor
appointed Chris Sheering of Elko to the
Board. When Judge George Brown [died],
the governor appointed Leo McNamee of Las
Vegas.Then (when] Mrs. Wardin died, the
governor appointed Mrs. Mary Henningsen
of Gardnerville. But we had selected Moseley
before Mrs. Wardin died. The others—I think
we were working on it.

Just to broaden that a little, Dr. Olmsted
was the first to die, and the governor appointed
Chris Sheerin from Elko County and a
graduate of our school of journalism and the
editor of the paper out there. He was just as
fine a Regent as he was an editor. He didn’t
know much about the University, excepting
what had heard, but he had an open mind
and he applied himself very diligently from an
administrative point of view. 231 e was the one
that said, publicly, that as a Regent, I had no
peer. He gave as his reason this: that I insisted
that every point that came up be argued both
ways. And then when the meeting was over,
I recapped the whole thing from my own
notes so that we understood each other. He
also said that, “If there’s a man that knows
the University and its alumni, it’s Si Ross—a
memory like I’ve never seen.”

Well, now, of course, he was working with
me. To my way £ of thinking], the only place
that he faltered, and he wasn’t the only one,
[was on the Cutts affair].

Mrs. Wardin defeated George Wingfield.
The womenfolk got behind that movement.
I know that I was approached to get out and
support Mrs. Wardin, and I said, “I can’t do it
for the reason that some of us got together and
we’d asked Mr. Wingfield to run. And we did
it because we thought that he had been a fine
Regent and he was a good weight in there in
the matter of finances, and so on.” Gee, I was
pretty unpopular with the women. But Mrs.
Wardin defeated him.

But the moment that she was elected, the
women went to her and warned her against Si
Ross, that he does this, he does that, he does the
other thing, and you do this, and you do that,
and you do the other thing. Now, Mrs. Wardin
came up there unprejudiced. That’s the type of
woman she was. And she listened. Some of these
ladies went to her one time and said, “Well, have
you done anything about Si Ross yet?”

She said, “No, why should I? He knows
more about the University than all the rest
of us put together, and he’s dedicated. He’s
a man of principle. I had him in school and
know the kind of boy—the way he operates.
And he insists that anything comes up, we
discuss pro and con. And the things you say
about him he hasn’t demonstrated at all and
I don’t expect him to.”

Leo McNamee went further on that. He
said he’d sat on many boards of directors, and
such things as that, and had been a chairman,
but he’d never sat on any under a chairman
like Si Ross. He said, “He’s meticulous, takes
notes, and reviews everything that’s here, but,”
he said, “he will even take the other side to
make sure, and one thing was that he insisted
his name be called last. He didn’t want to
influence anybody.”

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Silas E. Ross

Then Mary Henningsen came on, she
came ft with an open mind and with a good
academic background. She was very quiet
and observant. But she was cooperative. Her
interest was the University of Nevada, and she
definitely felt that the success of the University
depended upon the administration, and the
loyalty of the faculty to the administration,
and to the people of the state.

Honestly, I think that the University was
to be congratulated on having those four
people on the Board when Dr. Hartman came
in. I think Frank Williams was on the Board
when we were discussing this thing, but he
was defeated or didn’t run anymore. But when
Dr. Hartman became president, the following
were his Regents: Sheerin, Wardin, Olmsted,
McNamee, Ross. That was a darn good Board
of Regents. It was a group that would never let
an individual come to them and discuss things
that pertained to the University of Nevada.
If they wanted to talk man to man, and such
things as that, they could do that. But if it
concerned the University, they’d go through
channels and it would come to us eventually.
The Board stood on that principle. As a matter
of fact, every Regent with whom I served was
an excellent person.

After Dr. Hartman died, the Board
decided that Mr. Charles Gorman, the
comptroller, could best handle the office as
acting president. He didn’t have an academic
degree of any kind, but we thought that he
had the business ability and the know-how of
the institution to be able to carry us through.

The Regents also decided, after studying
the situation, that we should search for the
man. We would accept applications, but
we thought maybe we’d better look upon
applications with a certain reservation
because of some of the experience in the past
with applicants for the position of president.
The Regents directed the chairman of the

board to appoint a committee from the
faculty to advise with us on specifications.
They further directed the chairman to write
letters to the heads of the land grant colleges
and the state universities to determine if
they could recommend anybody who had
administrative ability and teaching ability and
also was competent to meet people, friendly,
and so on. When the names were received, we
would write those recommended to see if they
might be interested in the position, we also
wrote the people that had made application
to see and get their background and what
they were doing and why they were interested
in moving. Most of the answers indicated a
desire for administration but had little or no
experience at such a position. Now, many of
these people that were recommended wrote
back and thanked us for the letter of inquiry,
but they were more interested in their own
department and they had projects that they
were trying to finish. Others wrote and said
that their chance of going ahead in further
administration was limited; they’d have to
look to other fields, but they wanted more
information. Now, as these names came in,
we referred them to the special committee
appointed from the faculty.

Among these people, John O. Moseley was
recommended to us. We received his record
and found that he didn’t actually have a Ph.D.
but did have an LL.D. He had an excellent
scholastic record and a Master of Arts. He
had splendid experience as a teacher and as an
administrator. He also had work at Oxford. I
forget what fields he was in, but these credits
were also submitted as a part of his record.
The credentials were submitted to Dr. Traner,
the chairman, and I don’t remember the
names of the others—asked them to evaluate
his graduate work at Oxford. In due time the
committee advised the Board by letter that it
had communicated with Oxford in England

My Association with the University of Nevada

121

and found that Moseley’s work far exceeded
what would be required for a Ph.D. degree.

Now, some of the people wanted to come
and see us. They came and we listened to
them. One in particular was a fellow that
was teaching in Idaho. We found he was a
wanderer who kept moving from one place
to another, and he wanted to use this as a
steppingstone to something better. He was
afterwards elected as president of San Jose
State. He didn’t last very long.

Now, Mrs. Wardin was one of the finest
women I’ve ever met; she was a perfect
lady, but she thought and reasoned like
a man. She’d had a lot of experience as a
teacher and in business, and she’d analyzed
the applications and recommendations of
each applicant. She believed that Moseley
was the man for the position, giving as her
reasons: “Moseley, who had the experience of
University administration, had the experience
of handling people and youth. [And then
there’s] the record of lectures that he had given
over the country at different universities.”

The Board settled on him. Mrs. Wardin
said she hoped to live long enough to see him
inaugurated. The dear lady did.

Plow, along about Moseley’s time, we
had a change of personnel in the Board
of Regents. During the ’40’s, the Regents
consisted of George Brown, Anna Wardin,
A. C. Olmsted, Paul Sirkegian, and myself.
That takes us through ’44. During that time,
three Regents died, and the president died.
Three appointments were made, and Paul
Sirkegian’s time was up and mine was up. I was
reelected in ’44, and John Cahlan and Albert
Hilliard got on. Leo McNamee just filled out
the unexpired term of George Brown and he
didn’t run again. Mary Henningsen filled out
Wardin’s term; she didn’t run again. I don’t
think Chris Sheer in ran again. Anyhow, there
were two vacancies, and John Cahlan and

Albert Hilliard were elected. Sam Arentz was
elected in ’48.

Dr. Moseley made a mistake. He had a very
eminent minister of the Episcopal diocese. He
was the dean of a cathedral in Washington.
He was also a regent of Washington State
University (that’s the A and M). Moseley asked
him to be the baccalaureate speaker, and he
told him that he would confer an honorary
degree on him. Well, that information got out
and we had three Regents that got irate—two
in particular. Well, right towards the end of
Moseley’s administration, we had this change.
The attitude within the Board of Regents had
changed considerably, too. Some of them
seemed to think that they should run the
University, based on the fact that they were
the Regents and the president was an errand
boy. They did a lot of running around and
listening to gossip and gossiping.

Well, after that, they thought things were
wrong and got mad at Charlie Gorman.
Gorman was up for retirement. They asked
Charlie [to retire], and then Moseley resigned.
Well, honestly, Moseley at one time felt rather
oddly about these people going around
and getting information from department
heads and members of the departments and
concluding that that was the whole answer
without going clear through, tracing it from
the bottom on up. He said that he would
appreciate it [that] if they wanted change,
that the changes would be done in an orderly
manner, but let him know that it was being
done, so he could be thinking about it, too.
But anyhow, they called for his resignation,
and Charlie retired. You know, those men
were good friends of mine. It was up to me
to tell them.

About the time that Moseley came to
us, by statute, the Regents met four times a
year. The one time that was really set was just
before commencement, and the others were

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Silas E. Ross

set up on the convenience of the Board. So we
only met four times a year. They would have
executive committee meetings, or such things
as that, but sometimes, wed have a meeting of
the Board that were around Reno. When the
thing’d come up, wed call up these people.
He suggested to make provision for “special
meetings” subject to call. Now, that involved
something, too, because in the budget, they
used to figure the expense of coming to Regent
meetings on a four-meeting basis, but, you see,
the special—. Anyhow, we recommended that
provisions be made for special meetings and
a consideration for an executive committee.
In other words, by resolution, the Regents
say the executive committee shall consist of
three to consider these particular things and
give quick action subject to the approval of the
next Board meeting.

Now, we’re ready for Malcolm Love. Well,
when Moseley resigned, the Board adopted
the procedure for selecting his successor. The
specifications were practically the same as they
were under the investigation to get Moseley.
They eliminated universities that were private,
independent. Well, let’s put it this way. You go
to the state university, the state agricultural
colleges, and teachers’ colleges, you see, for
our information, through the presidents. Our
setup was exactly as before.

But John Cahlan, after one of the meetings,
was on the plane going back to Las Vegas,
and he sat in a double-seater, and Dr. Love
was on the other seat. They introduced
themselves to each other. Love told John
that he was at Denver University, the dean
of education there. John told him we were
looking for a president and writing out to
get recommendations, and so forth. Love
queried him a little bit and he said, “You
know, I’d be interested, too, in that.” He said,
“I’m happy where I am, but my background
is administration.”

So John got in touch with me and asked
me if I wouldn’t write Denver University and
then write Dr. Love to see if he would consider
the position, and if so, give us his biographical
sketch and experience, and so on. I had a
little hunch, for some reason or other. He
was a graduate of Iowa. I had heard, in our
previous search for a president, that if you
wanted to get good administrators with their
feet on the ground, look to graduates of the
University of Iowa, the school of educational
administration. This man was a graduate of
Iowa. I did’ check into it, and by golly, they
had more successful presidents in universities
than most any other school! But they were
where the tall corn grows, and so forth. But
they were thrifty, One of the things that they
did at Iowa—it came out under Love’s earliest
recommendations, and it had been hinted by
Moseley—was to use the physical plant to its
full capacity.

After we received applications and
recommendations, we referred them to
that same type of faculty committee. The
committee sifted the names to four people
and gave us the reasons for the selections.
We invited the four of them and tried to have
them come at a regular Regents’ meeting.
Three of them appeared, but one of them
asked to appear earlier because of another
commitment. All of them were interested
and all of them were interviewed, and the
position was offered to Dr. Love. He accepted
and said he would be available, I think, in
August or September. He wanted to know
what the perquisites were. The salary was
set; it was $10,000. His perquisites went
up to $1,500 per year for entertainment.
We furnished him a car, and we allowed a
moving expense of $1,000, and the residence,
which included utilities and such furniture
as was [included]. The contract would begin
September 1, 1951.

My Association with the University of Nevada

123

Now, then, late in 1951, the policy of
the Board of Regents was first mentioned
and defined at the time that Mr. Arentz was
chairman of the board. He very definitely said
that it was the policy [that] when people are
hired to teach, then they should teach. The
administrators were appointed to administer.
The Regents should adopt certain regulations,
but they were not to administer. This following
plan for the control of the University provides
for a Board of Regents, and it was introduced
by me late in ’51.

The plan for the control of the
University of Nevada provides for
a board of regents in which final
authority is lodged. This board is a
body corporate and thus becomes
legally responsible for the final control
of the University.

The president of the University is
responsible directly to the board of
regents, and all other administrative
officers and staff are subordinate to
him and are responsible to the board
through the president.

There is a rather universally
accepted opinion that the function
of a board of regents should be the
consideration and approval of policies
rather than the execution of these
policies.

Policy for the University boards
has been developed through years of
experience. Today it is accepted policy
that the function of a board of regents
is advisory and legislative. They, then,
delegate to the president duties which
are initiatory and executive. It is the
function of the board to approve or

reject policies proposed by him in
the light of such objective evidence as
he can present. The president should
develop educational programs for
consideration, and the board should
furnish the necessary legislation and
authority for him to carry them out
effectively. Sound administration
springs from professional leadership
and lay control.

The board of regents should
seldom, if ever, concern itself with
the details of administration. Upon
the basis of the recommendations
and data presented by the president, it
should determine how in general the
various problems and administrative
jobs are to be solved or handled,
and should leave it to the president
to apply the policies decided upon
single individual jobs or problems.
Whenever a case arises where no
policy has been established, the
president should analyze the situation
and determine the issue upon which
the board needs to pass, and it will
then be the function of the board to
settle the policy with reference to this
point. After the board has acted, the
president will apply the policy to all
particular cases.

The next statement is:

The board should always act as
a unit. It controls the university as
a body representing the people, and
individual members have no priority
singly. No member can bind the board
by word or action, unless it has in its
corporate capacity designated him
as its agent for that specific purpose,

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Silas E. Ross

and then he can go no further than
he has been empowered. Even during
the regular session of the board, its
control is exercised as a body and the
individual has no right beyond his
own vote in any matter.

What was the occasion for this? That
prompted me to submit this? Knowing of
these difficulties and the poor example that
was set by interference (and at that time,
the elements got started) and the fact that
the faculty and everybody else would have
more part in the administration. Wed have
their advice, and so forth. Now, we had the
advice in our selections and such things as
that before, but not any more. Anyhow, this
was to define the policy as of the time it was
written. It was approved.

Now, Moseley appointed Inwood the head
of business administration, but Inwood took
many leaves, and the department became
pretty loose. Hed be away, then come back,
and so on. So he asked for another leave, and
the Board said, “No. Stay home and teach.” He
said he had a chance to work for a period of
time with the State Department, and they told
him no, if that’s what he wanted, he’d better
resign. And he did resign.

About that time, there were two or three
promotions going on regarding the South
Virginia ranch here, the Wheeler property.
All kinds of offers were made, and some of
them had a lot of pressure brought to bear.
Dean Hutchinson stepped into the picture
at the request of Love. Dean Hutchinson
actually spoke pretty abruptly and with
authority because of his former experience.
He attended some of these meetings, and
he was opposed to any of it at all because he
said they needed the farm for a laboratory
for successful agriculture. He came in very
emphatically—very emphatically—and said,

“No!” he said, “The value of the University
to the state is the laboratory. It’s dedicated to
agricultural research and for the benefit of the
people of Nevada.”

I will tell a little about some of the pressure
on that South Virginia ranch property. That
was a very interesting transaction, and there
were many rumors and counter rumors
about the pressure that was being brought
to bear, about rumors of bribery and the
governor getting into the project, and all
this kind of thing. Well, one of them went so
far as to go to the governor to try to get the
governor to force the situation. And he was
disappointed, that’s all. [Governor Russell]
said no. It was based very definitely upon the
recommendation of Dean Hutchinson. Well,
of course, some of the Regents thought we
ought to sell, but the majority kept saying “no”
on this recommendation. I think if anyone is
interested, they could get more information
on that by referring to the recorded actions
of Governor Russell. Did I approve of the
way it finally came out? Oh, yes, definitely, I
did. Now, frankly, I question (I was a kid on
a farm) as to whether this particular farm
was the type of farm we needed for all kinds
of agricultural research. But we owned it, it
had a pretty fair water right, and it would be
a good laboratory for certain agricultural
research. It wasn’t large enough to carry on a
big layout, but we ran part of it there and part
of this other— now, we got it all together, don’t
you see. But they decided to buy it. (On the
original purchase of the Wheeler property],
that’s when Mr. George Wingfield came into
the picture. The Regents and the state didn’t
have any money to buy at the figure at which
it was negotiated. If the truth were told, the
person that put up the money for it was
George Wingfield, quietly.

Now, Dr. Love gave us notice that he
was going to resign effective a certain time

My Association with the University of Nevada

125

to accept a position in another university in
California. There were a number of people
who were just kind of surprised—well, of
course. But I know he talked to me about
it. I knew that they were courting him for
it. I also knew that Mrs. Love would like to
be down south. She’d like to go down south
because her father lived down there. She
wasn’t too happy with the house she had to
live in on the Nevada campus. He told me,
as chairman, that he was going to resign,
but he would carry on and help us in every
way he could to get a successor and help the
successor get started.

The Regents again started to find a
president. We used the same plan in selecting
Stout as we did the others. The interesting
part of it, as I remember it, Dr. Love told us
to look over Dr. Stout and the experience
that he had had (he was also an Iowan), with
a Ph.D., and so forth, and who’d had a good
academic background, and he worked up
’til he was the head of the department. And
he was also a lecturer—Texas, Missouri, and
such places as that. Dr. Stout had some of the
same recommendations as Dr. Love had. He
attended the University of Iowa. Washington,
the state of Washington was another one—
Minnesota. So we went over the list of
potential presidents. I really think a lot of us
were influenced somewhat in favor of Minard
because we thought so much of Love.

I’ll try now to relate some highlights of the
Stout administration. Dr. Stout was elected,
and the last meeting of the Board (that was
the year that I came down with bleeding ulcers
and I was at Lake Tahoe recuperating) was
held at “Suits us,” Lake Tahoe, Nevada. Dr.
Stout came out and sat in on that meeting.

Dr. Love, at that meeting, suggested
that the Regents set up a plan graphically to
understand the relationships. (I don’t know
how to get this darn thing into the record.

I can find it right here in a minute.) Well,
the chart was set up as follows: On top is
the citizens of Nevada. Beneath that is the
Board of Regents, who are responsible to
the citizens of Nevada. Beneath the Regents
is the president, who is responsible to the
Board of Regents. Beneath the president are:
on the left, the comptroller (1), who’s directly
responsible to him. On the right, the dean
of student affairs (5), directly responsible to
him. In the center are deans of the faculty (2,
3, and 4), which are directly responsible to
him. The faculty is responsible to the deans.
Further details were provided by the chart. I
do not remember them.

1 2 3 4 5

During the Love administration, a
question came up as to the policy on consulting
services. (You see, these regulations we had
here didn’t apply.) Love didn’t know what to
do about it, as the old regulations indicated
they were supposed to teach. They liked the
idea of consulting services because it was
good public relations for the University and
good experience for the individual. Love

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Silas E. Ross

had this in mind and he let Stout know why
he advocated the idea, and it was approved
by the Board. Now, it reads here in my
notes, “President Love presented a policy on
consulting services” (that was at that meeting
at the Lake) “which had been prepared from
a study of universities as a substitute for the
policy on outside employment of faculty
members.” That was May—this policy on
outside employment of faculty members
was established in May, ’48. This is called the
“Consulting Services Policy”:

Basic Provisions

Consultation within his
professional field is recognized as a
legitimate activity for a faculty member
of the University of Nevada. Faculty
members can not devote their entire
time to teaching and at the same time
keep abreast or ahead of progress in
the field of knowledge in which they
are interested. It is desirable, therefore,
whenever feasible, that faculty members
engage to some degree in consultation
work (and/or research professional
or technical writing). Non-curricular
activities of that nature should tend to
improve and broaden the knowledge of
the individual so engaged, and should
bring prestige to the individual and the
University.

Private consulting service
by a member of the faculty of
the University of Nevada, unless
specifically arranged otherwise in
his agreement of employment, is
restricted at all times to engagements
of a professional nature which in the
opinion of the head of his department
and the dean of the division do not
interfere with the performance of

academic duties assigned him and are
proper for a member of the faculty of
the University of Nevada to accept.

Consulting fees shall be
commensurate with the professional
standing of the consulting faculty
member and his association with
the University of Nevada. In general,
fees shall be at least as high as those
of independent consultants of similar
professional standing in the same
field.

In all private consulting
engagements, the client must be
informed that the faculty member
is acting as a private consultant; that
the University of Nevada is in no
way a party to the contract or liable
or responsible for the performance
thereof; and that the University
of Nevada is not liable in any way
for property of the client utilized
for test, observation, or otherwise
in connection with the consulting
engagement, nor for consequent
damages. No official University of
Nevada stationery or forms shall be
used in connection with such work,
nor shall the name of the University
be used in advertising or in any other
way without the express consent of the
dean of the division concerned.

The University of Nevada will
permit the faculty member to use
the space, equipment, and other
facilities of the University of Nevada in
consulting engagements so long as the
performance of the engagement meets
with the approval of the University of
Nevada under the following conditions:

a) The estimated amount of time
which he is to spend at such work

My Association with the University of Nevada

127

and his rate of compensation shall
be established in conference with the
individual concerned, the head of his
department, the dean of the division,
and the president.

(b) The member of the faculty
undertaking private consulting
work may be assessed a sum by the
University of Nevada to provide
for cost of power, light, heat, and
equipment and for all the facilities of
the University of Nevada used in the
con duct of the work and to cover all
overhead expenses.

(c) The use of assistants by a
faculty member acting in the capacity
of a consultant shall be subject to the
approval of the head of his department
and the dean of the division.

That, to me, is quite important.

Now, I think we’ve got something else
here. Acting on the graph that had been
presented by Dr. Love, shortly after Stout got
organized, he came in with a simplification
of [the policy).

(a) The president presented the
results of his study on university
administration and recommended its
simplification as follows:

THE BOARD OF REGENTS

The control of the University of
Nevada is vested by law in a Board of
Regents consisting of five members
elected by the people of the state
of Nevada. It shall formulate and
establish the policies which shall be

followed in the administration of the
University.

THE PRESIDENT

The administration of the
University is vested by the Board
of Regents in the President of the
University. As the executive head of
the University, it is his duty to secure
an effective, efficient, orderly, and
economical administration which
provides a healthful development of
the University.

THE TREASURER AND
COMPTROLLER

The Treasurer and Comptroller
is authorized by the President to
receive all moneys arising from
gifts or bounties in any form to the
University or from its benefits; all
fees from students or others; proceeds
from all sales of whatever nature or
kind; fees for services rendered in any
manner, and funds from any sources
whatsoever other than in cases by
law required to be paid to the State
Treasurer. He shall keep the accounts
of the moneys in his custody in such
separate funds as are necessary for
proper and systematic accounting.

Now, I know why that was done. Because
the Board of Regents set the screws by the
request and the demand that came from
the legislature. People would go over from
departments and try to get bills through, and
such things as that, and get it all confused with
budget. Many of them would have it earmarked
for a particular department, and they wanted
to handle the funds independently. I told you

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Silas E. Ross

the one some time ago that was received by
the head of a department and we didn’t know
that he had it, and he started his program.

This statement goes on:

THE DEANS

The administration of the
various colleges and of student affairs
is delegated by the President to
the respective dean of each. He is
responsible to the President for
the efficient, effective, orderly and
economical administration of his
area.

THE DEPARTMENT HEADS

The administration of the various
departments within a college may
be delegated by the Dean of the
College to department heads, who
shall be responsible to the Dean
for the efficiency and educational
effectiveness of the respective
departments.

COMMITTEES

An administrator may appoint
committees to ad vise him or to aid him
in carrying out his duties. Committees
shall be responsible directly to
the appointing administrator and
through him to the President. The
administrator shall be responsible for
the committees he appoints.

Now, that was the simplified policy which
was recommended by Stout.

Early in the administration of Stout, it was
rumored that a bill had been drawn to require

that all funds under the control of the Board
of Regents be placed in the state treasury, thus
doing away with the Regents’ bank account.
It was to go to the state treasury. The Regents
opposed this idea because they knew that
certain federal funds were paid to the Regents
only. The plan died a natural death.

Dr. Stout had investigated, right off the
real, the advisability of associate membership
in the western college association, which was
a step in the right direction. He recommended
joining the association. His recommendation
was approved by the Regents.

Now, during his administration, this
matter of Communists teaching and
Communists on the faculty came up. Dr.
Love was absolutely against it and Dr. Stout
was against it. The idea began to push itself
in under Love. Love recommended that we
do something to halt it. Newton Crumley
introduced a resolution and the jist of it was
this: That knowing that a member of the
Communist party is not free to teach the
truth, the Regents will not appoint a member
of the Communist party to the faculty. It was
adopted as policy.

Was there anything in particular that I
remember about this Communist issue that
made Mr. Crumley decide to bring it in?
Well, we had a faculty member who was a
Russian teacher and he was quite active—he
was a scholar. Well, he was the main one,
and frankly, it was sensed a little bit in other
departments, but there were none as active
as this fellow was. The Regents thought that
the sooner that we expressed ourselves on it,
the better.

Another thing occurred early in the Stout
administration. Mrs. Wilbourn gave the
University sixty acres of land in the Las Vegas
area in memory of her mother as a memorial
to her mother, Mrs. Anita Julia Cornish. That
was on February 14, ’55.

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129

Along that line, let me say this, that there
was a lot of land offered, or spots offered for
the location of the [NS] University I know we
started out with Moseley, and Love carried
on, and then Stout came up when we began
to do things. Ground was offered to us up
around Boulder City, other ground around
Henderson, and then ground west of Las
Vegas—that’d be west of the Union Pacific
track. I think they call it the Charleston
district. Then Mrs. Wilbourn offered this as a
memorial. The Regents and the president went
to Las Vegas to inspect the sites suggested
and decided that the best area of ground as a
sight for the University was this gift of Mrs.
Wilbourn, although we would need more
ground.

There were two reasons why they selected
this site. One was that there was additional
open land around there that we might
purchase to expand the campus, and the
other was that it was close enough to Las
Vegas so that students could find jobs to
work their way through the University. Now,
of course, Boulder City was an ideal spot for
the University—quiet and everything like
that, but it was too far away. Henderson was a
little bit too far away and it didn’t give promise
then of too much development. It was a
manufacturing center. Then across the tracks
on the west side, what was offered was limited
in total acreage. Mrs. Wilbourn gave us forty
acres first to begin with; then she increased
it to sixty acres. That gift came after—at the
end of that particular time. It was a memorial
to her mother, Mrs. Anita Julia Cornish, who
was from the Comstock, Virginia City, in the
early days. A memorial plaque in memory of
Mrs. Cornish is in the first building on the
Las Vegas campus.

Later, Dr. William wood, who was the dean
of the extension division, told Dr. Stout that we
ought to try to get more land to expand in that

particular area, and we began to look for it. But
in the contiguous area, we found large blocks
of land privately owned but unimproved, but
they were held for speculation. It took us some
little time to run this thing down. Finally,
local people in the area found some land. The
University was finally in a position to pick up
some of this. They had to buy something to
expand the campus; there were no donations
until the time that Wayne McLeod offered
the University as a gift a piece of land-locked
land that he owned there; it was immediately
adjacent to, or contiguous, with the University
campus. There was a condition with it that they
have an athletic field that would be named
for Wayne McLeod. The University took the
offer under consideration. On legal advice, the
Regents didn’t accept the offer for the reason
that if somebody wanted to put up a field house
there, there would be a conflict of interest. So
Mr. McLeod gave this land to Trinity Episcopal
Church in Reno. And later, the University
and Trinity Episcopal Church entered into
a land exchange agreement, the University
acquiring the church property contiguous
to the University land, the church accepting
property in the same area, but not contiguous
to the University property.

The location of the Fleischmann School
of Agriculture and the Sarah Fleischmann
School of Home Economics was determined
by the Regents. By placing the agricultural
building on the south end of the lower campus
and the home economics building on the site
of the president’s residence, the two buildings
could be connected. This idea was approved
by the Regents.

It was the opinion of the Regents that we
ought to have the president’s home away from
the campus so that he’d have some privacy.
The residence of Mr. Leo Ginsburg on Mt.
Rose Street was purchased for the president’s
residence.

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Silas E. Ross

We had a little remodeling to do. The
Stouts moved in, and they continued their
hospitality to the students, members of the
faculty, friends of the University, and so forth,
the same as they had done before. You see,
Moseley was the first one that built up the
social hospitality idea (that was mentioned
in the address of the president of the student
body at his inauguration). Love continued it,
as did Stout. [The residence] was occupied by
Dr. Armstrong for quite a while.

The University had the first gift from
Arthur E. Orvis of $100,900 to establish a
department to be known as the Orvis School
of Nursing. The contribution from Orvis was
that the school be named the Orvis School
of Nursing. Later a provision was made for a
dean and a separate department.

Well, now, in 1956, the Regents again
had a matter of salaries and appropriations,
but in making up the budget, Dr. Stout
recommended this [a standard budget]. Then
in addition to that, a seven and a half percent
increase in the salary budget be included in
the first year of the biennium and another
seven and a half percent in the second year
of the biennium, and that the income from
that would be used to increase the brackets
and individual adjustments. Now, this is the
first time this has come up, you see, within
the bracket.

Under the old practice, youd have people
in the bracket, and it might be an assistant
professor or associate professor, or something
like that. A man might be brought in here as
an assistant professor, but he would come in at
a lower salary— we’ll say the instructor—with
the understanding that he would be promoted
to this without any increase in salary. So there
was a differential, and Dr. Stout felt that that
thing should be adjusted. Now, some of the
reasons given for this other layout was that a
man might not have had his Ph.D. degree, and

they required that as necessary, and so forth.
Or he might be a vitally good teacher but too
old to go ahead and get his Ph.D. degree, and
he would be held down on this pay level.

Now, I know that it was never intended
to discriminate or anything like that, but he
only had limited funds, and he had to work
within it and adjust to it as best he could.
At least the administration did. Moseley
did recommend that, the seven and a half
(percent], the first year (and seven and a
half— it was used to increase the brackets and
individual adjustments within the brackets
to correct that). I’d like to emphasize that
because I think that he opened a door that
had been overlooked by the other people and
something ought to be done to maintain good
discipline within the faculty.

Now, then, they were forming this
western commission [WICHE] to set up
areas for medical schools. Each state was to
pay in a certain amount of money towards the
administration of this. One of the privileges
you got in that was to guarantee entrance of
your qualified men in a medical school or
dental school, or whatever it might be. To begin
with, the Regents weren’t quite satisfied that
that was necessary, holding that if the people
did have the qualifications, they could get into
the other medical schools. Then we didn’t have
the money to pay this turnover. And there was
a legal part of it, as to whether we had a right to
turn it over to this commission to administer.
Well, anyhow, this was brought up by Minard
again. And it wasn’t approved because of the
lack of funds at the present time. Later, you will
find that we got it in there.

Now, during his administration, the
question came up of changing the course of
the Orr Ditch, and for two reasons: one was
the hazard and the other was the nuisance that
it had become, going around the campus that
way. You know, there were a lot of drownings

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131

in that ditch. Now, in order to protect that, Mr.
Wingfield at one time told them to go ahead
and put in concrete sides and footings for the
Orr Ditch from the bridge down around the
turn. He gave them the money to do that. You
know what I mean? You had the canal right
near the walk and it went underneath, and
then you had just earth right along the banks,
and it went around a corner. Then later, we had
trouble back of the mechanical building and
above the dairy building there on that turn,
with the banks, and so forth, and Wingfield
thought they needed it. He said, “Go ahead
and do it.” He paid for it. Then when they got
the WPA, that was continued clear around the
corner. (Gee, I never saw such laziness of men
in my life as I did on that WPA project!) Now,
when the Orr Ditch siphon was completed, we
needed money from the legislature. There was
a little engineering problem, but they decided
to put that good one right across the street.

In the Love administration, he
recommended that we deed to the research
Bureau of Mines two and some-odd acres of
land in the northeast corner of the campus.
When the building was completed, they
moved out of the building back of the school
of mines. It was thought that they could tie
that old building into the school of mines
and give them more working space. But I
remember Dean Scheid came in and made
a survey of that. He came to the conclusion
that it wouldn’t be possible to put the things
in there that they really needed because the
building wasn’t properly constructed, but
it could be used for other purposes. What
those purposes are, I don’t know—maybe
it was overlapping, or something like that.
They never connected the two buildings.
There was a passageway between the two. But
finally, upon the recommendation of Dean
Scheid and endorsed by President Stout and
recommended to the Board, they remodeled

that old Bureau of Mines building and made
it a part of the academic accommodations.

Now, during that time, after Scheid
was here for a period of time and the
University was growing, there was a matter
of personnel. Dr. Stout recommended to the
Board that they make provision for increase
of personnel in the mines department,
business administration, library, the college
of education, and the Fleischmann College of
Agriculture. Maybe I left some out, but these
are the things that I can remember about it.
But it was right after the study of the increase
in salary at the University, he mentioned the
departments that he thought should have it. I
can understand it in the Mines, because they
coordinated and brought all these divisions
into the Mackay School of Mines. He was the
dean of the school of mines and director of
these things which were all together.

And I can also understand why the
University needed something better for the
business administration, because Weems had
come into the picture and he had established
a much needed and successful department.
He needed more teachers badly, and he also
needed more room. The new Ross classroom
building was supposed to have been a
classroom building particularly for business.
Due to the conditions of Morrill Hall, and
so forth, they had temporarily moved some
other administrative departments into this
building—the different deans.

The library—Stout was a great believer
in a library, and he knew the handicap under
which Mr. James J. Hill was working. He
discovered that Mr. dill had a lot of material
stored in the basement of what was called the
journalism building. (By the way, money was
gotten for that building without the Regents’
approval or knowing anything about it. A
Regent decided he wanted that. And he went
to the legislature and got this money, another

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Silas E. Ross

one of those things—.) Stout knew the
handicap. Now, I don’t know enough about
the library, but I know that you’ve got to have a
director, and then you’ve got to have divisions
along here, and you have to have personnel
that knows how to handle these things. And
this top man has to have somebody help him
coordinate all this work. That’s what he was
asking here.

The College of Education, after it was
recreated, it started and went great guns.
And you know, in addition to the college
of education, the professor and dean was
requested to include the summer session,
so they needed extra people there. And,
of course, the college of agriculture, with
all this new building and everything like
that, they needed the personnel. And those
were the ones that I can remember. Stout
recommended that and it was adopted. If you
look back on the records, you will see that
there was an increase in personnel in all of
those divisions.

Now, around ’56, remember, I mentioned
that Dr. Stout said that we ought to have some
research on tenure and academic freedom.
Well, I know that the Regents approved of
it as a matter of policy, see, but suggested
that the matter be given research and further
study. Stout appointed a committee from the
faculty to research and study the problem
and come in to him with statistical data and
recommendations. He recommended that the
proposed regulations on tenure and academic
freedom, as submitted by the academic
committee, be approved. That was done at
that time; that’s around 1956.

Another thing that Stout recommended—
and it took me right off my pins, because Dr.
Stout had very definitely said this Cit was one
of the things he got into trouble about)—he
hired people to teach and they’re specialists
about it, and that’s what they should do. You

hired trained administrators to administer,
and there was such a thing as a chain of
command. He adhered to that. Of course, he
said that you should work, and he emphasized
what both Moseley and Love had said, that
the teachers should give some of their outside
time to students that weren’t getting along
in their work or didn’t understand things,
outside of the classroom.

Well, anyhow, he came up and suggested
that they work out a plan for a five-day week,
with the exception of administration (and I
think in administration he included himself,
the comptroller, and the deans). They would
work a half day on Saturday. They suggested
that they give it study and come up with a
proposition, which was approved on trial.
Now, that’s the first time I’ve ever seen that
mentioned, this five-day week business.

What did he mean by that? They should
be on the job for these particular purposes.
Now, it seemed a little bit inconsistent because
he had recommended, as did the other two,
and put that into effect, to use the laboratories
and such things as that, the rooms, for other
purposes, and make it work all along. But he
arranged it so that these people could, if they
were helping students, and the like of that,
find a place to do it. They had a complete
schedule and layout, but they ought to put
in this time.

Were there many who didn’t work five
days a week? Yes, even in my time, when I
was a student up there, the people in arts
and science—well, the people—let’s say, the
divisions like English and foreign languages
and history and psychology and some of
those subjects—mathematics, they’d try to get
everything over in the morning; then that’d
give them the afternoons off. Then beginning
with this great increase in students, they had
to adjust themselves and do some teaching
in the afternoon and seminar work, but they

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133

worked it out. But the idea he had in mind
was probably around eight hours a day for
general work.

Of course, in my day, we had this three
months’ vacation, but we were supposed
to spend two months in the interest of the
University, and the other one was our own.
Well, some of this two months could be used
in getting laboratory equipment together, or
going over your bibliography that they use
for teaching and wherever you’ve been, or
they could assign you University work on
the outside. They could send you down to
Las Vegas to do some work. Or the people
in the chemistry department, [if] they
had a problem with the soils, the water, or
something like that, we’re supposed to take
care of it. Of course, that was done away with
when they began to get these public service
responsibilities.

Then about that time was when
they had this big hullabaloo up there on
insubordination. We went to the attorney
general for advice. We started out with one
man, I think, or two men, and then three
others were involved. We were advised that
we could just draw one complaint against all
of them, which was incorrect. The attorneys
for three of them got out of some sort of a
[response] here that surprised us. A writ was
obtained on four of them. President Stout then
recommended that the writs be observed, we
went ahead with this trial. It turned out to
be a nasty thing. Oh, I don’t want to discuss
that kind of thing. The thing that made me so
damn mad was this: a couple of the Regents
hurried off to Europe, or someplace like that. I
had planned to go to Paris to attend a meeting
of the International Rotary. I remained home
to attend the hearing. Forget about this
hearing, other than it was held. This writ had
been issued, and upon the recommendation
of the president, the Regents observed it

without going any further. We had only one
trial, and the person on trial resigned.

Now, at this time, beginning in 1957 the
Board increased Stout’s salary from $10,900 to
$12,000, and they gave him an entertainment
fund of $150 to $200 a month instead of a
flat sum, see? I make that note here because
he was controversial, but you can see that
apparently they were satisfied with him, right
then and there.

I’ve told you that we’ve had troubles from
the first administration on through because
of misunderstandings or because of people
assuming that they had the right to do certain
things that was the duty of somebody else.
In the school of agriculture and agricultural
extension, and so on, that thing was a big
bugaboo. And how the “overalls” dean didn’t
work out, and then the political side of it when
two members asked for a leave of absence so
that they could run for governor and for the
United States Senate, and then one asked for
leave to go to Washington, D. C. for lobby
work—taking too much time.

Then we got into this little jam on
administration and demanded recognition—
let me put it that way—of certain groups in
the matter of administration. Also, Dr. Stout
took an attitude that some of them didn’t like,
particularly the people that were affected,
such as when a man was incapacitated due
to illness, to hire substitute teachers and
then converted this man’s salary to pay the
substitute. Dr. Stout turned down two or three
of those suggestions and wrote a letter back
that said this: “No, one of the advantages and
the fine points of teaching is the matter of
charity towards all. And there’s no reason why,
in your particular department, that you can’t
divide up this work, at least partially. And
those courses that you can’t divide up—or,
rather, you’re not qualified to take—just not
give it this semester, but give it at a later date.”

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Silas E. Ross

Well, that made the people mad whod made
the recommendations. Then sometime earlier,
maybe way back in the Clark administration,
the Regents, under the direction of the
legislature, thought that the Board ought to
centralize the needs of the University and
present their requests, and not to come in with
personal and other (requests). They set that
up as a general policy, but it cropped up in
the latter part of the Clark administration. We
thought we had that taken care of, but it came
in stronger towards the end of the Moseley
administration. Love sensed it right off the
reel, and there were certain individuals—and
he named them, too—that were dangerous.

But anyhow, Stout was going great guns
until this matter came up on insubordination
and all of that trial, and then we had the
representatives of the AAUP come into the
picture. Then we had certain individuals up
there that felt that they could get in touch
with certain individuals of the Board of
Regents and certain people in the legislature.
So the legislature passed a bill authorizing an
investigating committee.

That’s when Dean McHenry came into the
picture. Well, Mr. McHenry, you know, was
a candidate for president of the University
way back. I met him and I thought he was
a pretty good fellow, but I thought he was
a dean, and everybody else thought he was
a dean. But that was his first name. The
legislature hired a committee from southern
California to make a survey of the University
of Nevada. McHenry was the chairman of
the committee. They came up and made a
survey of this whole situation, and they picked
up all of the complaints and a good many
names. The committee made its report and
recommendations to the legislature.

One of the recommendations was to
increase the number of the Board of Regents.
They changed the term to ten years and set

the plan up so that they’d work into it within
a period of three or four years. Under that
plan, you elected a man every two years
and [would] not change that continuity of
operation. Well, I think it was under Carville’s
administration, they discovered that this plan
violated the constitution, so they changed the
thing back and set up, or tried to set up the
mechanics to still work out something that
would preserve this continuity of thought. But
anyhow, this McHenry report had quite a bit
to say about that particular thing, and they
passed a law in the legislature increasing the
number on the Board of Regents.

The legislature elected them, but that
procedure was unconstitutional. But they
did elect these men, and I guess the attorney
general said that it wasn’t within their
power to elect the Board. The legislature
could increase the number of Regents, but
the governor could appoint the Regents to
serve temporarily until the next general
election. The governor appointed the same
five people—the same number of people to
increase that Board. And, of course, that was
a pretty good nucleus for these people to work
on—inexperienced Regents, and so on.

One of the things they did when the
appointed Regents attended the first meetings
was to work in harmony. Shortly, however,
some Regents decided that the best thing
to do was to get rid of Dr. Stout. This plus
the nastiness and the dilemma and the
uncertainty made Dr. Stout very definitely
say, “Well, I might as well quit.” So he, right
at this time, when we were doing so well—
promotion, the tenure, and all of these
things—this happened. So he resigned. That
was in October, ‘57 He thought that maybe
he could help, so he made it effective as of
July ’58, thinking maybe that he’d be of help,
you know, until the new man came in—give
them time to get a new man.

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135

Well, I forget the names that were on that
Board. I know one of them came to me, and
then a second one came to me and said that
theyd made a mistake, but it was done. They
were two of them on the appointed Board. But
these two men said, “We didn’t understand.
We thought this was—we wish we’d had a
chance to talk to you.” Now, I was not on the
Board at the time because I went off in ’57.

I forget whatever the rule was, but he
had the use of the house until fall. But later,
in December of that year, why, I guess the
pressure was great—I don’t know—but
they called Dr. Stout in and they signed an
agreement for him to get out right away. There
was a cash consideration and the clause in it,
waiving any right that he might have, and so
on. People wondered what that is, and that
was this tenure business that they passed
before. I wasn’t in that time.

But I want to say this to you. Now,
Moseley stepped out directly into a good job
that paid a whole lot more than he got here.
Dr. Love had accepted the presidency of a
larger institution, but he stayed with us long
enough to ground Dr. Stout. When Dr. Stout
left, he was immediately picked up by Curtis-
Wright Corporation, and they negotiated
with him and made him vice president of the
division of planning, with a large increase in
salary. They knew his record as an organizer
and the coordinator of things, and such
things as that. Now, within the year, they
again increased his salary and made him vice
president of research and development. He
was getting in the neighborhood of $30,000
a year. I don’t know the exact amount. But
then the president of the company retired on
account of age, and the new regime decided
that they could save this expense and pick up
from there.

Now, what Dr. Stout did to begin with was,
he sat in the office and learned the picture

of the whole operation. In the event that
one of the places wasn’t paying money well,
management sent him out there to investigate
it and see why and [give] a suggestion as to
what to do. He found in a very short time that
there was a lot of duplication of effort where
they could consolidate and save money. His
work was so good that he was transferred to
research on these different installations.

He resigned from Curtis-Wright to
accept a position with Miami University at
an increase in salary. They made him a vice
president and director of development.

He continued at Miami for a period of time,
and then he was hired by a specialty company
which surveys educational institutions
and business organizations. He was made
chairman of the committee which handled
the survey of university administration down
through secondary education. When the
survey was completed, his committee made
recommendations regarding economical
administration, correction of overlapping
courses, and faculty load. The survey and
reports extended throughout the United
States and required much traveling.

Minard had always looked forward to
the day that he could afford to retire from
administration to a professor and head of
a department on the university level. He
now has such a position. He went back to
teaching and is now successful as Director and
Professor at the Center for Higher Education
at Arizona State University in Tempe, Arizona.
He teaches a class in administration.

I’ve mentioned Mr. Orvis. Arthur was
a very generous man. He was a progressive
fellow. He wanted to help people. He was a
devout Episcopalian. He wanted to see the
[Trinity Church] building completed. He
contributed quite heavily. The church had
some money earmarked to put on a roof if
the church ran out of money before the walls

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Silas E. Ross

were completed. This did occur. The church
needed $30,100 to complete the walls and
be ready for roofing. A special meeting was
called to determine what to do and how to do
it. Some suggested that Trinity borrow from
the national church. The answer £ came back],
“The national church had exhausted their
fund for such a purpose.”

Some suggested that we sell the church
property up at Fifth and Sierra to get the
money. That was ruled out because the
income from that property was needed to
operate the church.

Some suggested that the church solicit
funds from the public. That suggestion was
ruled out [for] the reason that the members
of the church had the responsibility.

Arthur listed for quite a while to all the
discussion. He arose and said, “I have an
idea. A lot of us have already contributed to
this edifice. I’m going to suggest that some of
them have contributed as much as they can.
There are others of us, by squeezing a little
bit, can contribute more. Now, I’d suggest that
we form a new organization called ‘Shares
in Trinity’ and we pledge ourselves to pay a
certain amount more towards this building.
And let’s get a little publicity on our problem,
and maybe there’ll be people that we haven’t
approached that are Episcopalians who will
then contribute.” Arthur then said, “After
this suggested effort is completed and the
money is in the treasury, if there is still not
enough money to complete the project as now
outlined, well, I’ll match it all,” just like that,
“when this comes in.”

The newspapers cooperated. Their project
received publicity. Some people who were not
members of the church made contributions.
Some said, “Here. You people raised this
money by yourselves. This is an asset to the
community. You didn’t approach us. We want
to contribute.”

Arthur’s suggestions and ideas crystallized.
So many came in and helped the project
financially that we raised more than enough
to complete the walls and roof the building,
of course, the building was not completed,
but the roof was over the heads of the
communicants, free of all encumbrance. (Mr.
Orvis’ generosity to the university is covered
elsewhere in the oral history.)

University of Nevada
Student Life, 1905-1957

My father and mother called me in and
told me that I was growing up and I was
growing up in a world of competition that
was greater and more complicated than ever
before. If I wanted to be able to meet this
challenge, I needed an education. My folks
were obligated to me to do the best they
could towards providing for funds for this
education. But in getting this education, if I
wanted to be a leader in competition, I also
had to have a knowledge of the Bible. Father
wound it up by saying this: “This is my advice,
my son, based upon my observation, and I
hope that you will be a leader some day if
you care to.”

Now, knowing that a farmer and stockman
only got cash money once a year, and knowing
that money was hard to get, I decided that I
was going to get an education on my own,
if possible, figured that the best education
I could get in the fields I was interested
in [would be] first, a good engineering
background, as well as cultural; and second,
to see the world, and that the quickest and best
way to get it would be to get an appointment
to West Point where I would have government
subsidy to attain that sort of an education,
put in the required time to be prepared in
case my country needs me, to resign, and
to use this background to enter the world of

My Association with the University of Nevada

137

competition. In my senior year in high school
I made an application for an appointment to
West Point. I was fortunate enough to receive
the nomination. Of course, I had to have a
high school diploma at that time, and also
pass a written and physical examination. Mr.
Winfrey was the principal, and he heard about
it, and he said, “We can give you a diploma
ahead of time.” I received the appointment
and sent for the necessary papers. At that
particular time, you needed the consent of
both parents if you were under age. And my
little mother demurred; she would not sign.

So I didn’t get to go to West Point. Then
I thought, “Well, I’m disappointed. I’ll lay
out, get a little money, enough to go down
to San Francisco and get a job and go to
Lowell High School.” The only reason I
thought of Lowell was so many people said
it was an excellent high school, and with
an additional year of high school, I would
have a better background in order to enter
Stanford. I figured that I could do that and
work my own way, not do any athletics, or
anything like that, and study law. Having
done some declaiming, a little debating in
Reno High School, I was probably then bent
for law. I didn’t intend to enter the University
of Nevada. My mother was opposed to law.
She didn’t want her son to be a lawyer. You
sometimes might have to he!

A few days before—oh, I guess maybe
two or three weeks before the University
started, my folks asked me why I didn’t go to
the University and try it out. And I told them
no, that I made up my mind to this, and if I
couldn’t go down there this year I’d go to work
and go down another year.

Then, maybe a week before the University
registration, two in my high school class, Stan
Palmer and Winfield Lake, made a trip down
to the ranch to urge me to come up and go to
the University of Nevada. I knew that that was

going to cost me a little money, and I doubted
that I could do a job of it up there if I had to
commute, and such things as that, and if I
did go, I wanted to be in a spot where I could
enter activities and broaden my experiences.
Well, now, anyhow, they convinced me to go
up and register. Well, I did.

Frankly, about two weeks after registering,
if anyone had given me a dime to pack
my books and walk to the ranch, I would
have done it because of the great change in
environment. But things changed then, and
I decided that P liked the University and I
would make the best of the education for
this year. I was going to try for West Point
again and try to convince my mother to let
me go. In the meantime, at the end of the first
semester, Father and Mother said that they
would give me twenty dollars cash per month
if I wanted to live in town, and they’d try to
give me additional money to register and have
sufficient clothes to get through, fly the way,
out of that twenty dollars a month, it cost me
sixteen dollars a month for room and board.
I had four dollars left, and my mother insisted
on doing my laundry, and I just didn’t like that
at all, but she did it for a while.)

So I really was quite happy about this,
but I had in mind this appointment. There
were two appointments that year, and Oscar
Griswold from Elko got one and I got the
other, and Mother again said no. It was an
interesting thing, too, that the appointment
that I had went, in each case, to another Elko
man.

In the meantime, I’d gotten into various
activities, and I thought, “Well, I’ll go through
here and make the best of it and try to make
contacts and help the country kids register,
and such things as that. At that particular
time, I found that a lot of our boys that were
working their way through had difficulty
getting positions in the mines for the reason

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Silas E. Ross

that Stanford and California closed earlier
than we did, and those fellows got all the jobs.
But I did get jobs for some of these students,
and I had my job on the farm and with the
cattle. But anyhow, I then started propaganda
to get University authorities to change our
semesters and open a little earlier and recess
a little earlier so that our boys would get the
first chance at positions in the mines. I went
to President Stubbs about it. (Now, mind you,
though, that—maybe I was unorthodox. I
did it, but I’ve always felt that if you wanted
anything, you ought to go through the front
door.) I went to Dr. Stubbs and explained the
difficulty and gave him of my experience. I
said, “Of course, as far as I’m concerned, I’ve
got a job. It doesn’t pay like the mines and
the like of that, but I can help my parents for
what they need.”

So I started a laundry agency, and I got my
laundry free in consideration for getting the
laundry extra accounts. I went to work on the
Student Record and got a little commission by
getting ads and finally wound up owning the
paper. It was a source of revenue, and I never
made less than twenty-five dollars a month
out of that. Then I made a little extra money.
Instead of applying for a job on the campus, I
would relieve these employed fellows and they
would pay me when they wanted to get off. [I
also earned money] by splitting and carrying
wood and building fires and janitor work, or
I might be working on the old truck, hauling
water to Lincoln and Manzanita Hall in the
dining hall—drinking water. But as time went
on, I was elected to a class office and then was
elected treasurer of the student body in my
sophomore year and served in the junior year.

Well, anyhow, I kept up that employment
agency, and I made contact with the alumni,
which I think now and thought many years
ago was a great advantage. By making these
contacts with the alumni, I knew who they

were, what they were doing. I brought them
closer to the University by sending some of
our boys out, and they made good.

To begin with, in my first year, I played
American football. But I didn’t start out
immediately, and the freshmen had the
responsibility, on Sunday and Monday, after
the Saturday game, of raking up the athletic
field so the squad could play on Monday
night. And then we would rake up the old
quad (that was between the back of Morrill
Hall and over to about the school of mines
building) and get those rocks off so that they
could practice on that while they cleaned up
the regular playing field. I concluded I’d rather
get out and try just a little football. So I did
go out, and I played on the scrub team— it’s
really the second team, but we had games.
We played, gave the first team practice, and
then we had competition with high school
teams. From there, I did a little track, too, in
interclass competition, and kept busy.

During that particular time, my freshman
year, I went into a fraternity. The fraternity—
it was the first time the old THPO pledged
freshmen. And two of us, Stod Southworth
and I, were the two freshmen they pledged,
plus some of those that had been freshmen
the year before, and also juniors. We were
called in by the head of the fraternity and told
about our responsibility to the University, and
what activities would mean to us in meeting
the public, and that we should aim to get in
and be a leader in some one of the campus
activities. I will tell more about that shortly.

The students made rules among
themselves. But they would have to do it in
groups such as the girls’ social groups and
the boys’ social groups, and then they would
spread it and then work together. It’s different
than now.

We had certain traditions in the
dormitories and certain responsibilities. One

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139

tradition that was approved by University
authorities was that each class could have
one big dance each year. Also, the sororities
would go together to give a social function,
or they could take a men’s group and a ladies’
group—there were two each. There were
two there; then came the military ball. The
military ball, we were all in it.

You exchanged dances; you never crashed
a dance. We’d serve punch and usually the
punch bowl was on the north side of the
gym in a stairway. They’d come up there and
get this punch and we had snacks during the
dance. Now, when we had class dances, we had
the grand march, and we rehearsed for that
particular thing, and all these courtesies for
the ladies they were small. Another thing, too,
as poor as we were, we were taught that we
should have some sort of corsage for our lady.
But orchids and those expensive things were
out. Usually the group giving the party would
specify the type of corsage, maybe a rose or a
couple of carnations made up nicely. We had
to close at a certain time. Those nights, those
people in the hall would have to be in by a
certain hour.

The dances were quite formal within our
ability, and I want to tell you, we dressed for
it. And the girls, gosh, they’d have their long
dresses, and they’d had their dance shoes in a
little bag—you carried that—and then shoes
to walk in. If [she lived] just a short distance,
say, four or five blocks or so, we’d walk. But
in the event that a girl was clear across town,
you’d have to figure out some way; two men
would go together and take two girls and get
transportation. Maybe we would borrow a
carryall that the lady’s father had for business,
or sometimes we’d hire a hack. You took her
to the dressing room and you gave her her
shoes and she went inside. You went to your
dressing room and you waited for her. And
I can remember as clearly as though it were

yesterday how we would work to decorate that
old gym with all this crepe paper and so on
to make the gym look festive.

Now, you see, the upper-class dance
would be the junior prom and the senior ball.
When they had that, that took the place of the
class dance; they just gave it a different name.
If it were a senior ball, it was for seniors and
invited guests and their escorts. How, they
usually invited class representatives. If it was
juniors, there were other social amenities.
A freshman or sophomore couldn’t attend
(senior or junior dances), and there was a
tradition to begin with that no underclass
girl could attend until all the upper-class girls
were accommodated.

Just a little introductory statement: when
the University was first started, there was a
group of boys from all over the state from
different walks (of life) and even northern
California that lived on the campus. They
were hazed a little bit by the boys in Reno. In
order to hold their own, they got together and
formed a little association, and they called it
“the hill protective organization.” It’s rather
mysterious as to what that meant, but it’s
quite—it can’t be documented because Prof
Wilson’s dead. But there was a little war on
between the boys outside and those who lived
downtown. This is what the prof told me, that
they put the names—the initials of the boys
in the hat. And to make it mysterious, [they
used] the first letter of the last name of the first
four. The “T” was for a fellow by the name of
Thompson, and I think he came from down
around Pioche. “H,” they decided, came from
a man by the name of Henry. (And that I don’t
quite understand, because the Henry family
at that time lived on the outskirts of Reno.
Probably he moved to the campus.) “P” was a
fellow by the name of Powers, and he came in
from around Yerington. The “0” is a fellow by
the name of O’Brien. I don’t know whether he

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Silas E. Ross

came from Carson or whether he came from
Virginia City.

People like the Evanses, who lived right
next to the University, were out of town, they
could belong, and like the Elenrys from the
western end of town, and any of the boys
that were out on the areas that would adjoin
Reno at the particular time could belong.
Now, Albert Cahlan was one organizer of
this group. He had another explanation for
THPO. They went beyond the campus and
took in the boys from the country, or in the
suburbs around Reno. They would always
travel in groups so as to protect themselves if
they went downtown. Then after they worked
at it a while, they finally found that in order
to get the proper understanding and get
the new men assimilated, it was necessary
to put them through a period of education.
The result was that they turned this “hill
protective association” into a social group, and
they made the rule that no one could join or
petition to join it until after they had finished
their freshman year.

This organization finally developed into
a social group, and they called it THPO.
They never invited a freshman or a first-year
man to join. He had to be indoctrinated for a
period of a year, and then if agreeable to the
principles for which the organization stood,
he was invited. That was continued until
my freshman year. In 1905, they let the bars
down, temporarily, at least, and they took
two freshmen. One of them was Stoddard
Southworth, whose brothers were old THPOs,
and Silas E. Ross. Now, each year they added
to the membership, but they would take men
from the sophomore class or others that had
stayed over two years. They’d also found,
too, that in order to maintain any traditions,
that they couldn’t depend too much upon
“specials.” They were looking more for the
fellows that were going to be there four years.

But every once in a while, they would take in
some of these specials.

Now, that, in due time, led to the necessity
of competition, and a group of the fellows
that were living downtown and some that had
been in the hall but hadn’t been invited got
together and they formed what they called a
Sigma Alpha fraternity. This group was the
first to have a house of their own; they lived
off campus. The THPO, to begin with, had
lived in one of the old Bishop Whitaker School
buildings, and then later, the second story of
the mechanical building, which stood on the
site of the present mechanical building. It was
called the “ram’s pasture.” That gives you the
background of the grouping of individuals
and what they thought was a necessity. It’s a
tradition.

Now, probably the next thing that the
social groups did was to insist on responsibility
for the underclassmen. So it was traditional
that the juniors would take care of all of the
freshmen that came in, help them register,
advise them as to University traditions, show
them the buildings and their classrooms, and
have general supervision of them. The seniors
were responsible for the sophomores.

In order to create a splendid rivalry, the
upperclassmen set up competition between
the two under classes. The purpose of it,
at that time, was to have something that
would mold the men and women into a unit,
working together. So they devised what was
called the “cane rush.” The sophomores would
take the cane and start on the south side of
the gym and they’d work to carry it across
to the north side of Morrill Hall. Of course,
the upperclassmen supervised this. If the
sophomores carried it through successfully,
they gained certain privileges. If they didn’t
and the freshmen stopped them, the freshmen
gained the privilege of not having to wear the
“dink.”

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141

Now, sometimes, the classes were not
evenly matched; there would be more in
one class than the other. That happened
in my class. When we entered up there as
freshmen, we had specials and others that
were with us, and we went into the cane rush.
Fortunately, we stopped the sophomores, so
we didn’t have to wear dinks. But when we
became sophomores, many of these specials
had dropped out, and quite a number of
them stepped out into a particular field, like
metallurgy, or geology, or— well, you take
Farmer Jones from out in Palisade, he took all
the mathematics and physics he could get; the
dickens with the rest of the subjects.

So in our sophomore year, they had this
tug-of-war. We had to have a certain number
of people participating. The result was that
every man in the class had to do something.
So the sophomores knew that the carpenters’
union in Reno had won the tug-of-war on
Labor Day or the Fourth of July, and we
located the—oh, I don’t know what they called
them, sort of a ladder with rungs on it that laid
down flat on the ground, and the ropes and
so on. And then you’d line up and you’d have
a number one man who was not too heavy
but was alert. Then the anchor man would
be a man that was pretty heavy and strong,
that had not only the grip, but his shoulders,
so that as you pulled and you gained a cleat,
he could take it out.

Now, Ray Gignoux arranged with the
carpenters to have their equipment put up in
the Gignoux’s back yard (that is the building
where this Charlie Cutts art center is). We
went into a negotiation with one of the
carpenters, who was quite an expert, to coach
us. So we were pretty well trained. We had
one man; we called him “captain.” He was- on
the outside, and he would watch for certain
things. When we were ready to move, or
“take a cleat,” I was supposed to tell him that

we had it—had them coming our way—and
he’d signal right on back; he’d count three, or
some way. And that’s when we put on the big
pull, and Gignoux would take up the slack and
hold until the pulling members would take a
cleat. Well, we were lucky there. We won the
tug-of-war.

The freshmen had to wear the dink and
they couldn’t be carelessly dressed—well,
maybe we would say this, dressed in an
inoffensive way. In other words, they didn’t
come in with boots all covered with dung
and dirty overalls, and the like of that. They
had to wear their trousers and coat, shirt and
tie, and so on. Now, the sophomores could
go into another bracket. They were given
certain concessions so that they could wear
a sort of a jumper jacket. Then when you got
to be juniors, you had the right to wear the
derby hat and corduroys. When you were a
senior, you wore the sombrero and the high
lace boots. The boots had the bottom of the
trousers turned into them. Those were typical.
Now, these seniors could also wear a flannel
shirt and corduroys.

And by the way, the year that we played
the Barbarians and Mackay was at the
University, we dressed him [as a senior].
Here’s a picture that was taken [looking at
the picture in Everett W. Harris’ history of the
engineering college] * following our win over
the Barbarians, when Mr. Mackay was here.
And he and his family sat over here in the
training quarters on that porch that was out
in front. The boys then went over and picked
Mr. Mackay up.

You can get an idea of the dress [from
the picture]. Now, this fellow was a junior.

*Everett White Harris, A Chronological
Outline of the Origin and Development of
the College of Engineering. .., p. 18-a.

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Silas E. Ross

You see his corduroys there? He had to have
his coat, but he doesn’t have a beanie on
there. Here’s one that has, and we carry it on
through. Now, this fellow was a special, but
he could wear that sombrero hat, you see?
That’ll give you some idea of traditional dress
at that time.

Another tradition that we had was that
whenever you graduated, you had a class
pin and that had “UN” on it with your year.
In addition to that, each class had to have a
yell. When they sat down together, like in the
dining hall, the seniors would open up, then
come the juniors, then come—right on down.
“Rah, rah, rah! Kick-a-rah-kine! Nevada,
Nevada, nineteen-nine!” That was traditional.

There was another tradition, but it
was a necessity. And that is that we had to
have certified drinking water in the girls’
dormitory, the boys’ dormitory, and the
commons (we used to call it the dining
hail). And that was a job for two men. The
University furnished a sort of dray, low, with
a horse to haul the water. They kept the dray
and horse down the hill in back of what is now
the mechanical building. There was a pump
between the mechanical building and what is
now the Mackay Science building (it was in
the early days agriculture, and later, mining).
We would pump four ten-gallon cans of this
water for the dining hall and two each for the
dormitories. The interesting part of it was this:
the cans that went into the dining hall, they
served the water out of that for the tables. But
those that went into the dormitories, they
had tin cups attached to the cans, and they
all drank out of that cup.

Then there was another tradition that if
anyone violated any of the rules as a freshman,
sophomore, and sometimes juniors, and
sometimes an upperclassman, if he didn’t
cooperate, that laking was established. They
would give the man an opportunity to put on

rough clothes, and they’d toss him out in the
lake and watch him. If he was frightened or
got too much water, they would bring him
in. If not and he was out some distance, they
would throw him a rope and bring him in. But
they never did that to the girls. I don’t know
what their discipline was.

In those days, just to get you squared
away on it, the pond (now called the
University lake) up there was not as large
as it is now. The west side of it took off on
the north end of Manzanita Hall, not the
Manzanita they added to, but the other one.
The east end of it came in just about the line
of the walk in front of Stewart Hall. They
had a walk on that, wooden, made of four
by fours and crosspieces. They also had the
same thing from Stewart Hall up to Lincoln
Hall on an angle. They had one from the
dining hall down into the gulch and then
on up the hill to Lincoln Hall. Now, they
did have walks around the campus, but even
then, people were supposed to stay on the
walks. When I attended the University, they
had cement around Stewart Hall and Hatch
Station and Morrill Hall and the chemistry
building and the school of mines building
(which was originally the agriculture,
standing on the site of where the Mackay
Science Hall is), and then one from there up
by the mechanical building, and from there
across to the gym. They also had a wooden
walk that ran from that particular walk
over to the old chemistry building and then
down along the side. Now, those, you were
supposed to stay on them.

In those days, the athletic field was not
as large as it is now, and it wasn’t level. Then
you couldn’t get a quarter of a mile track in
oval. The result is that when you started in
the hundred-yard dash, you were running
downhill. But when you went on the quarter-
mile, you had to run uphill, then downhill.

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143

As I’ve said, the duty of the freshmen at
that particular time (it was on Monday), was
to take rakes and other equipment and rake up
the athletic field and take the rocks off it. On
Monday, the squad would have light practice
up in the area between the back of Morrill
Hall and the front of the old gym. Then on
Tuesday, wed go up and rake the rocks off that
area while the other fellows rooted it up down
below. The freshmen had this chore. Once in
a while, if there was an unruly sophomore,
the seniors would put him to work and watch
him work, make him do his portion. That’s
one reason why some of us turned out for
athletics. The other is they needed every male
student who was really able-bodied to get
out and help develop a first team and then a
scrub team.

You might be interested to know, or have
this question answered: Where were your
showers? When they built the old gymnasium
(and you understand that the students and
the people downtown put on plays to raise a
good portion of the money for this building,
and then the state appropriated the balance;
but they had to have something like that as a
gymnasium), the downstairs, or the east end,
had a depression. It wasn’t a full basement.
The rubbing tables and the showers were in
that depressed area on the east end of the
gymnasium. There were a couple of drying
rooms in the same area.

There’s one other that was a tradition,
yet it was violating a University principle.
Lincoln Hall had a separate furnace and so
did Manzanita and so did the dining hall.
But the classrooms in Stewart Hall, in Hatch
Station, and in Morrill Hall, in the mechanical
building, and in the old chem building all had
stoves in each room. The fuel for those stoves
was always kept in a little area north of Stewart
Hall. There was a building in there that was
Mr. Richard Brown’s headquarters, as head

of the buildings and grounds, and in back of
that was the woodpile.

The furnaces didn’t work too well, and
the students that lived on the top floor of the
dormitories had to have some place to keep
warm because the heating plant wasn’t large
enough to get heat up to the upper dorms.
There was a fireplace in the assembly room on
one side of the first floor of Lincoln Hall—that
would be the left side. Oh the right side, there
was a sort of a parlor in there that the Browns
could entertain their guests in. There was also
a fireplace in that room.

The freshmen, whose rooms were on the
upper floor, were organized and given the
responsibility of furnishing wood for the
fireplace in the assembly room. The woodpile
provided wood for stoves in the classroom.
The pile was north of Stewart Hall. The
freshmen raided this pile each day for logs to
be used in the assembly room of Lincoln Hall.
Certain freshmen would pick up at least two
logs each, and they’d carry them to Lincoln
Hall and they’d build a fire. A good fire would
be burning by the time that Dick Brown got
around. Then, also, they had spotters out so if
Dick was coming, they’d disappear. Now, Mr.
Brown had the responsibility for the wood.
Yet, on the other hand, he loved his boys. Oh,
he’d make much ado about it, but none of the
freshmen were penalized.

There was no smoking on the campus
nor in any of the buildings. That included the
professors and other campus personalities.
All were supposed to obey these traditions. If
they didn’t, why, there was enough of a group
in the faculty to get them mildly disciplined.
However, I do know that many of them used
to go down into the furnace room or the
basement and have their smoke.

In those days, in athletics, you had to
accomplish certain things in order to earn
your Block N. The size of the N was governed

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Silas E. Ross

by the major sport. The fellow that played
football had the largest N. The man that was in
baseball or track, about the same size. Usually
the track N would be larger than the baseball
because we didn’t have much baseball. (Our
weather was such that all we could have
was interclass competition. California and
Stanford and those schools were well on their
way in training before we could even get on
the field.) And then, finally your basketball.
The girls won their N, and it was the smallest.
The N was awarded for making the girls’
basketball team.

Our class, to begin with, specials and
all, was a fairly large class, but not too
large—enough to be able to participate in
the games, and so forth, which we lost. But
many began to drop by the wayside, and
many of them became specials, and so on,
and the result was that there weren’t really
enough members to go around to fill these
campus vacancies.

I had been elected president of the student
body at the end of my junior year and made
president of the class, also. And at the end
of my junior year was when the University
put in the office of “junior marshal.” I was
the first junior marshal. It was my duty to
form the academic procession and marshal
it into the gymnasium for both baccalaureate
and commencement exercises. This was an
invaluable experience for me.

I guess I was selfish. Any new experience
was a challenge to me. I tried to make good
and hoped to learn something new. And I did
learn a lot. That year, they also changed the
regulations governing the academic league.
Among those was making the president of
the student body president of that academic
league. Among the responsibilities were (1)
having the athletic field in perfect shape, (2)
all physical properties and props in place
for competition, (3) competent officials on

hand, (4) athletes’ quarters, (5) guides and
hosts for the athletes, and so on. And there,
I worked in a lot of our Block N men. That
was the beginning of the idea of student
cooperation in all University activities. It
was quite a responsibility, but I learned much
about organization. After graduation, I started
coaching in extracurricular activities besides
teaching.

One of the interesting things that
happened in my freshman year—one of the
football games that was arranged for the
second team was with the Indian School at
Stewart. We played a preliminary game to the
varsity. I was playing end and halfback at that
time, and I noticed there was a rather small
Indian coming through that line and just
raising the dickens with our play. I called for
time and got ahold of the coach. I said, “The
little Indian is coming through this particular
spot.” And the biggest man we had on our
team was the man the Indian was coming
through. “I wish you’d make a change and
see if we can’t stop him.” And I said, “I realize
I can’t talk to the substitute ’til after the first
play, but then I—.”

So the coach took the big fellow out and
put in Ray Gignoux. Ray Gignoux was strong
and heavy, but he wasn’t as big as this other
fellow. During the summer, Ray, before he
entered as a freshman, went out shooting,
hunting, and he placed his hand over the
muzzle of the gun, and the gun went off.
The shot went right through his hand and
(through the back of his thumb). It took all
this part of his hand off. So after the first play,
I talked to Ray about what was going on, and
he said, “You see—see these fingers here? I’ll
have that buck’s ear, or he’ll have my fingers.”

The first play after that, the Indian was
sent [to go) over Ray. They tried to—well, Ray
got that fellow out of the way. When they got
up and around, these fingers were bleeding,

My Association with the University of Nevada

145

but the Indian boy had been knocked out. Ray
wouldn’t go out. He said it just bent them up
when he played, and I’m sure [it did].

The next year, we went into rugby
football. I tried out for the team. They
assigned me as wing forward. They had two
of us on the job—on an equal representation.
They played each of us now and then. I played
wing forward that year and the next year.
We were playing in California, and I was
told that I was first string wing forward. The
coach came out on the field and announced
the team personally. He didn’t call me. Of
course, I was disappointed, but I felt there
must be some good reason for it and that his
judgment was better than mine.

To begin with, the regular wing forward
on the California team was not on the
beginning California team. His name was
Tuller. He was the captain of the team, and
he was big and strong. In a short time, the
California coach put Tuller in. As soon as
California put him in, our coach put me in.
Gosh, he was big! And the first play, by gosh,
I found myself almost out in the middle of
the field. He was that big, he’d hit me so hard!
And I said, “Well, boy, you’re in here and he’s
too big for you to handle that way. You’ve got
to outpoint him.” I executed my idea. After a
few plays he lost his temper and called me a
vulgar name, and I said, “Well, now, come on,
old top, let’s play football, and if you feel the
same as you do now when the game is over,
I’ll meet you out in back.”

He said, “All right.” And when the game
was over, he came up to me. I thought he was
going to make an appointment to go out in
the back yard.

He said, “Ross, you taught me the best
lesson I’ve learned in my life. You used your
own bean. And you just kept playing me this
way, out-pointing me, ’til I got mad and I
wasn’t effective.” That remark took me back to

my early childhood, when my parents advised
me to be prepared.

The Nevada team then went down to
Stanford to play, and I had the very same
experience. And I went out for rugby the
next fall, but I came down with tonsillitis
and jaundice at the same time and could not
continue on the squad. So my last year was
1907.1 didn’t play in 1908 because I had this
illness.

Now, around November of 1908, Dr.
Stubbs called me in and told me that the
engineering schools all over the country were
requiring more chemistry, more physics, and
more mathematics, “and I’d like to have you
remain at the University. I can’t pay you a big
salary, but I’ll do this for you. In addition to
the salary that I can offer you, I can give you
your board and room at Lincoln Hall and
make you assistant master and give you a
chance to do graduate work on the side if you
stay with the chemistry department.”

I said to him, “Dr. Stubbs, that seems
asinine. You have plenty of men that have
Ph.D.’s in chemistry who would like to have
that job. And you have plenty of experienced
mining engineers and men in the field who
would like to take it.”

And he said, “I know that, and I could get
them. But,” he further said, “a chemist doesn’t
know mining like you do. You have, during
the time that you were a student assistant
here, been able to do a lot of teaching, and
I understand from Dr. Adams that you have
taken a lot of additional work, orally, reading
up, and so forth, and you can do the job. We
can get these chemists, but they don’t know
anything about mining. Now, I can get mining
engineers with all this experience, but they
don’t have the chemistry that’s missing. And
will you stay?”

So I told him I wanted to think it over,
and I finally decided that, “Now, you have

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Silas E. Ross

an opportunity. By doing this, you have an
opportunity to impart your knowledge, you
have an opportunity to improve yourself, and
you’ll have an opportunity to handle young
men. I can well afford to take this and try it
out at least, but I don’t know whether I’ll be
a good teacher or not.” So I went back and
thanked him, and I said, “I’ll take it.”

Along in January, and so forth, I began
to get positions offered to me in the mining
areas from South America clear up to Sweden
and as far away as Formosa and locally in
the Tonopah area, up to Montana, the mines
up there, and also down to the zinc mines,
in Missouri, and in my particular field,
metallurgy. Rut the first job I was offered was
as location engineer on the Alaskan railroad
for a certain time. Mr. Gignoux took that job.

Well, anyhow, I went on through my
senior year and was cadet major, the highest
office they had in the University battalion.
And the first time in the three years before,
the military men came in for inspection [of
the cadet corps]. It was just cursory, easy.
This year, we were supposed to appear in
uniform at nine o’clock. We had the parade
and all required military maneuvers, both
battalion and company. By that time, it was
a little before noon, and he recessed us until
one-fifteen in the afternoon to appear in khaki
uniform.

We made it. The inspection officer gave
me a problem to solve: The enemy was
approaching from the west with a planned
attack of the University. I was to deploy my
battalion to meet that attack and repulse the
enemy.

So after he gave me the problem, I asked,
“May I repeat the problem to you so I’d have
it right?”

He said, “Yes.”

So I thought it over a few moments, and
I immediately deployed my battalion. Using

men to draw attack, [we] made flanking
attacks on the enemy (quite a sham battle).

Upon completion of the assigned
maneuver, it was around four o’clock as I
remember, or a little after, we assembled
again in the athletic field and reported to the
inspector. He said, “Dismiss your battalion,
major, and report to me at the commandant’
s office.”

And frankly, my heart went clear down in
my shoes. I asked myself this question: “What
have you done to disgrace your University?”
Now, I was a part of the University of Nevada,
and I was responsible.

I dismissed the battalion and did the
other little things I had to do and then went
down and reported at the commandant’s
office in old Stewart Hall. I went in and the
secretary was out front and I spoke to her. I
said, “Commander So-and-So (whoever he
might be) has asked me to report to him here.”

I was asked into his office. I clicked my
heels and reported. He said; “At ease, major.
Sit down. Take your cap off.” He was very
complimentary. So I began to feel better, and
then he said, “But—.”

I said to myself, “Here it comes.”

He said, “You used the cemetery as a point
to draw fire, and you’re not taught this thing
in this kind of work.” Then he said, “It was
a good thing, because you were protecting
your men behind these headstones, and so
forth. But international law specifies that
you cannot desecrate a cemetery.” He then
said, “You weren’t supposed to know this,
and I want to compliment you highly. I want
you to know that I’m recommending you for
a commission as second lieutenant in the
United States Army.”

[Laughing] That’s my military. So I
thanked him and I said, “I would like to accept
it, but I can’t. I’ve agreed to come back to the
University and do a certain thing, and they’re

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147

counting on it, and I can’t break my word. But
thank you.

Well, you know, I don’t know that I ever
did anything in my life up until that time that I
loved better, to have the opportunity to teach,
to do graduate work, and commune with
these young people. It was at that time Cit was
a side issue) that I became an employment
agency, so to speak, to place our boys. I carried
employment for students through until the
mines closed down, through teaching and
while I was in business. When the mines
closed down, I then went to the woods and
placed a number of the boys in good positions
in the woods, not as many as in mining, but
they earned good money.

During that year, I thought, “Well,
now, I’ve just struggled along. I’m going to
help some student.” I got hold of a young
fellow that had difficulty and I helped him.
I continued to do this until Mrs. Ross and I
were married. Then I told her what I’d been
doing and she said, “Let’s continue it. But let’s
include girls.”

We graduated a person from college
every year after that, up until this last war.
You know how many we lost out of this idea?
Only three of them had gone bad on me. We
had some girls, too. Later, we took on to help
young people when they went to graduate
school. One time, Mrs. Ross and I had three
boys in medicine and one in dentistry and
our daughter at Stanford. But we had set
aside a little bit each year, and I still have that
revolving fund. I never took a note. There was
not a scratch of a pen from any of them. I told
them that I was doing this to be helpful, and
when they got out into the field, if they wanted
to return it, they could add to the kitty so they
could help others. You know, that war broke
out, this last war, and you’d be surprised—I
heard from these young people from all over
the world. Gene Salet mentioned it when he

was here this last year. Every one of them knew
what to do with the money. I didn’t finance
them completely, but in addition, I’d get jobs
and things like that for them. I had a couple
boys. One worked for me on the furnace and
one for labor, and I got the two of them to
get busy during the summer and organize a
yard and lawn business, and when they came
back, they had the furnaces to take care of.
One of them went ahead educationally, went
East to school and earned his Ph.D., and the
last I heard of him, he was a professor in a
University back East.

Here is a thing that’s interesting, and it
comes back to you. There was a fellow that
worked on the railroad. He was a fireman and
he had been promoted to engineer. During
the busy season he was an engineer, and
during the slack season he could bid in as a
fireman. But Dean Scrugham had met him
and he wanted to go to the University and
become a mechanical or electrical engineer.
Dean Scrugham got him up there and got him
settled, but he was short in chemistry and
mathematics and some physics. I took him on.

About the time that Dr. Stubbs was here,
there was a disruption in the prep school and
they wanted him to take many of the people
out. And Dr. Stubbs called Dean Thompson
and me in and he said, “Now, these students
are just raising the devil. We want you to come
down here and take over the prep school.”

I asked, “Is that a demotion?”

He said, “No, sir, it’s not a demotion.
We want you to take it over and hold onto
it because we’re going to abandon the prep
school later. We have to put in at this time
another high school.” He said to Dean
Thompson, “You’re going to be the principal,
and you’ll handle the academic subjects, like
English and history, and such things as that,
and electives. And you, Mr. Ross, will take the
chemistry, physics, and mathematics—part of

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Silas E. Ross

the mathematics.” Miss Mack was teaching
then and such things as that. And you know,
we looked into the records, and there weren’t
any of those young people that were passing
their solids or anything like that, but the
University had to keep them up there in
order to have enough men to have a skeleton
battalion in order to get our appropriation
from the government. Well, we did what we
were told to do, with the boys in particular.

By the way, I met one of those girls not
long ago—she was in a class—and we got to
kidding (and as a matter of fact, I’ve known
her since she was a kid in Glendale School,
but I was a little bit older) - She started to
telling some of the things that happened in
the presence of the person that was with me,
and she said, “Not only that. Then I was a
little girl going to the Glendale school, I rode
a horse, but I couldn’t get on or off the horse,
and Silas would always be there when I came
up to take me off the saddle and put me back
on!” Well, we were remembering those things.

Anyhow, this chap graduated. He was the
first ambidextrous person I had ever seen
that would work with both hands. And if
I ever gave the class a problem to go to the
board, he’d get right up, and he’d stretch his
arms out, like this [full stretch], to get board
space. He’d start with a problem with a crayon
in this hand, left hand, and go over here and
pick it up with the right hand and go right
on through. He’s retired now; he made good.
He sent in his dues to the Scottish Rite; he
belonged to the Scottish Rite when he was
here, and he asked the secretary, “Where is
Si Ross and how is he? If you see him, please
give him my love; He’s the man that made it
possible for me to be where I am now.” So,
you see, our little help to students has been a
great satisfaction to us.

Going on from there, I loved the teaching.
I loved the coaching. I was also the graduate

manager and so forth, didn’t get any salary.
The faculty people were supposed to help. This
was extracurricular, a side issue. The first year
of the prep school, I called these young fellows
together and we and we formed a basketball
team. In the academic meet, they won the
state championship. I took them on into track,
and we won the track meet. Quite a number
of these students went on to college, and they
wanted me to help them there.

What I knew about basketball, you could
put in a peanut shell. Although, in 1906,
when touring basketball teams wanted to
play at Nevada (and I think there were at
Nevada four men that had played basketball
before), they received permission to go ahead,
and those four men were the nucleus. These
fellows got Silas to volunteer and go down
and help. Bonnie McBride of Elko and I
were the two substitutes. He was forward and
had experience, and then they had another
one that had a little knowledge of the game.
Whew, they beat the tail off us! But I became
interested in the game and decided that
basketball was a problem of mathematics. I
put the theory into practice when I started to
coaching these young students. I told them
the finer things—keep their feet on the floor,
but they played with signals. We never played
the man; we played the position.

In the old gymnasium, the floor was as
slick as all outdoors in winter because it was
only used for assemblies and graduation,
and so forth, until Miss Sameth came. It was
pretty slick and you would—the boys would
fall down or slip. I observed the Indians with
their moccasins and what they would do to
keep from slipping. I got a pair of moccasins
myself and put them on and went to the gym
and tried them out. I also found that if I had
them a little bit moist, I could stop and not
fall. So out of my own pocket, I bought a pair
of moccasins for each of the ten men and put

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149

a strap around them. I had four burlap sacks
that laid on the floor outside the sidelines,
and theyd be moist. When the ball was dead
or a lull in the play occurred, team members
would go out and step on the sack. Probably
that is one reason wed win these games on
this floor.

These students took an interest, plus other
university people. I was the coach. One year,
we went to the Coast and we played five games
in six days and we lost only one. And that
one we lost because our boys were green and
theyd never been acquainted with city traffic.
We came across the Bay on a boat, then we
caught a little train up to a certain point. Then
we were then to get on a streetcar to go over
to St. Mary’s. I told them to keep their grips
in their hands and watch traffic. One of them
looked in the wrong direction and was hit in
the seat and rolled, he was so badly bruised
he couldn’t play. That’s the first time St. Mary’s
had ever seen these long distance shots for a
basket. I had a boy by the name of [Richard]
Sheehy who was pretty good on long shots.
He was the feed forward. This fellow that was
hurt was the man that could shoot from close
in. So we had to put in a substitute, and he
was not as good as the injured player. So I got
ahold of Sheehy and I said, “Try it a couple of
times, but if they have the boys covered, you
take these long shots.” We lost that game. But
we went down the next year and we won the
Coast championship. We played Stanford,
California, St. Mary’s, St. Ignatius, Santa
Clara, and the College of the Pacific.

That same year, I coached the University
girls in basketball. It was hard to get games—
they had interclass games and such things as
that, but they did get a game with California
and Stanford at different times. These girls
were scheduled to play a game with Stanford
on the one day that we didn’t play the six days
we were down. I left the boys this one day

and met the girls over at Sixteenth Street to
board the train there to go down to Stanford.
[Laughing] Funny thing. I instructed the girls
as I had the boys concerning traffic. One of
the girls that played forward was from a rural
community and as strong as an ox. My sister,
Vera, played guard. And Vera could throw the
length of that gymnasium like a man! She’d
throw to Maude on the run. Well, Maude
was looking up like this [gesture], and all at
once, she looked up here and here was a horse
standing over her, driven by a fellow on one
of these vegetable wagons. Maude dropped
her suitcase and grabbed the horse by the bit
and sat him back on his haunches.

[Laughing] When we arrived at Stanford,
we had a little problem. Rules wouldn’t permit
a man in the gymnasium while the girls were
playing. My girls were provoked by the ruling.
They said, “Well, there’d be no game unless
our coach can come in.” An exception to the
rule was made.

But those girls were good. My girls were
better and won the game. And if you look
back in the Artemesia, you’ll see a picture of
my girls’ basketball team with the bloomers.
Sweat-shirts were used instead of blouses.

At that time I was graduate manager,
and the University was playing rugby. The
student body paid the coach out of its funds.
The coach wasn’t accomplishing much, so the
students fired him. We had no coach. They got
together and said, “You’re our coach.”

I said, “No, you can’t do that. You fired this
man, and he knows more about it than I do.”

They said, “No, you must take over.” The
first game we played after I took over, we lost
by a large score. I had less than a week to try
and develop the team. But they did much
better as the season progressed. One of the
men on that team visited me several years
ago. He was here on his fiftieth graduation
anniversary, Claude Hamilton, class of 1914.

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Silas E. Ross

He just died this last year. His boy came to the
University and graduated, too.

Claude was playing breakaway on my
team. I tried to coach how to break from
scrum and tackle the wing forward. I took the
wing forward’s place, and I was always out of
the way when the breakaway men charged.
Finally, I said, “Now, you people get up there,
one behind the other. I’ll play breakaway, and
you try to tackle the wing forward.” They got
the knack of the play. We exchanged places.
The ball was put in motion. [Laughing]
Hamilton charged and hit me so darn hard
he knocked me completely out! When I got
on my feet, I said, “Three times around the
field! Go in.”

Claude recalled that experience when he
was here on his fiftieth year of graduation. He
also recalled another happening. I’d forgotten
about it. He said, “When I was up at the
University, I was here a year and I’d had a little
difficulty getting oriented, but I came back
the second year.” He said, “I had a breaking-
out on my face, and everybody treated me as
though I was poison until Si came along. Si
took a look at me and he said, ‘Claude, come
on in my room.’ He brought me in there and
he took a look at me and he said, ‘I’m getting
a doctor for you, right now.’ He said he’d stay
’til we got the doctor. The doctor came up and
pronounced my case as smallpox.”

I said, “What’re you going to do with
him?”

He said, “The pest house.”

I said, “No, sir. Not yet.”

I called Mrs. Porter, who was in charge
of the University hospital. She told me that
there were no patients in the hospital. I asked
if we couldn’t put Claude in there. Mrs. Porter
replied in the affirmative. Claude recalled that
and said, “I got out of that okay.”

I did the same thing with George
Southworth with diphtheria at an earlier date.

Now, during that early time when I was
working with the student body as graduate
manager, I conceived the idea of the Block N
Society, then afterwards the Buck Grabbers
and a cross section of the housing groups on
the campus to act as a clearing house, and
afterwards advocated the formation of an
interfraternity council (IF). I have a plaque
of the constitution of that first group. There
were three copies made. One was given to the
man who was here in the business department
and who wrote the constitution. Then he was
transferred to another University. I was given
one copy, and Harold Hughes, who chaired the
first group, kept the third copy. Hughes was
somewhere around Nevada City and got into
an area where they had an old printing plant.
He made friends with this individual and
persuaded the owner to set up the constitution
in old type— border, and such things as that,
and make these three copies. And that man
presented it to me—not the man himself, but
the one that had the idea. I was his godfather
when he was born. He was a Roman Catholic.
It was an old family relationship.

During that particular time, we were
able to get these young people together to
work together instead of selfishly on the
whole picture of the University, and then
to get the fraternities together and include
one of each social group in every activity.
Fraternity men were coming in to show that
the fraternities were helpful to the University.
It taught community living, good morals,
loyalty to the University, and all of those good
things, through this council who could set up
activities for them to do.

Mother, in particular, requested that I not
participate in athletics. She thought it was
rough and people were getting killed, and
she didn’t raise her boy to be a soldier. Uncle
Jim told her one time I would make a good
soldier. Mother asked, “Why?!”

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151

He said, “When he shines his shoes, he
never shines the back of them, so he’ll never
look behind. He’ll look forward” [laughter].

I played football and ran in track in high
school. While I was in high school, I made
my letter in both track and foot ball. When
I attended the University, most every male
student participated in athletics. They needed
everybody. Saturday was my father’s day to
come to Reno and transact his business. We’d
always have lunch together. This Saturday we
had our lunch in the Mineral [Cafe]. We sat
down and I ordered a bread and milk.

Father looked across the table and asked,
“Son, aren’t you feeling well?”

I said, “I’m fine, Father. I’m not eating
much.” I said, “This is enough for today.

He was persistent with his questioning.
Finally, I said, “Father, I know what this
means—my allowance may be withdrawn.
But the University is giving me something
that I feel I couldn’t buy; I can’t self it and
I can’t give it away. The University team is
playing football this afternoon. I’ve been
practicing with the team, and in the mind of
the coach, I’m the man to play this position in
competition. I was chosen because he thinks
that I can do a better job than the other fellow.
So I’m playing.”

He asked, “What time’re you going to
play?”

I said, “Two o’clock.”

“Mind if I come up?”

I said, “No, but Father, I must be up there
early. I’ve got to change my clothing and meet
the coach for instruction.”

He said, “All right.”

We went up early and I took him over
and showed him the training quarters. Then
I brought him back to the seats, and I said,
“Now, there’ll be filled up pretty well, but you
can see best from this position.” It was about
the fifty-yard line. I placed him up fairly high.

[Laughing] The people that were there
said that he was a show all to himself,
watching that game. They’d push us down the
field. Father’d go to our defense by pushing
in the opposite direction from his seat. But
if we’d start the other way, he’d slide on his
seat in that direction. Finally, he got up and
left his seat and got on the bench by himself.
When the game was over, he came across
the athletic field to the training quarters. He
stopped at the door and asked if he could
speak to me. The young man said, “Well, we’re
not permitted to admit anyone to the quarters
while the team is showering and dressing.”

Father said; “I’d like to see him. I have to
drive six miles to the ranch this afternoon,
and I have chores to do.”

So the young man said, “Well, wait just a
moment, Mr. Ross. I’ll go up and see.”

The young man went up and received
permission for Father to come up on the first
level. The coach met him at the door and
introduced himself to Father. The coach sent
me out to meet Father. He looked at me and
said, “Son, you’re right. I’m proud of you and
I’m proud of your ideals. Your allowance is
not going to be cut off. We’ll support you in
this as long as that is your attitude.”

Do you know, he never missed a football
game or a basketball game from that day on.
Clear up from the ranch. I remember in the
basketball games, I’d try to reserve some seats
for Mother and Father right in the center of
the balcony. Mother told me one time that
Father (didn’t] like those seats.

I said, “Why?”

“Well,” she said, “he wants to sit on the
end.”

“Well,” I said, “I’ll try to fix that. So I
reserved seats on the end. Father’d get so
excited I was afraid he’d reach down and tip
the ball in the basket. You know, he became
interested in this competition.

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Silas E. Ross

My actions in athletics were not consistent
with the philosophies my parents had taught
me. In retrospect, I find that maybe I was
justified, but I could have approached the
matter a little bit differently and then asked
them for their consent.

And you know, that dear old dad of mine
was interested in athletics up until the day
he died. When Saturday came (my folks had
moved up from the ranch in 1917, across from
the University), “Game on today? Game on
tonight?” Over he’d attend, couldn’t always
persuade Mother to attend.

But I did get Mother and Father to come
up at our senior ball. They were sitting up in
the audience in the balcony of the gym. I asked
my young lady if she’d mind stepping up and
meeting my father and mother and if she would
sit with Father while I danced a dance with
Mother. She went up very nicely. Mother was
like a little girl. Oh, she was a doll! She tried
to influence Father to get down and dance, he
said, “All I can do is the square dance and the
hoedown.” And he said, “We’ll sit here.”

I went down on the floor with Mother and
I started to dance with her, and she said, “Son,
if we’re going to dance, let’s dance!”

I said, “What do you mean?”

Her reply, “Let’s speed it up! Now,
remember, this—.” We sped it up—reverse,
and so forth, but speed. By gosh, I was out of
breath in a little while! We had a great dance
together on the floor, and as a matter of fact,
it [laughing] became almost a show, until
Mother looked around and noticed others
watching us. Mother suggested that we leave
the floor and sit with Father for a while.

Previous to Dr. Clark’s coming, we had
high school competition in disclamation
and in basketball. Dr. Clark, after the war,
stressed the advantage of inter-high school
competition. He encouraged the formation
of the Nevada Academic League and the

bringing of the students from the high schools
of the state to the University to compete in
track and in basketball and football. Now, Dr.
Stubbs had done something about that way
back, and he brought a man here as the head
of the physical education department, which
at that time was practically athletics. I forget
his name, but we used to call him “Willie Play
Fiercely.” He was a graduate of osteopathic
school, and he knew a lot about sports and
physical training, but when his football team
was out there playing, he’d say, [clapping]
“Play fiercely, boys. Play fiercely.” [Laughing]
He got that nickname, “Willie Play Fiercely.”

In 1913-1914, upon my suggestion, the
Block N Society was formed. The reason for
it was this: the football men wore big N’s, the
track men, smaller, and we had no particular
basketball. We had baseball once in a while,
and that letter was still smaller. But each
was by itself and each had a manager. To
encourage this inter high school competition
and to then emphasize our own setup, Block
N was formed, and men of all varsity teams
that had earned their letter belonged to
the society. There was the understanding
that their purpose would be to be hosts at
any of these athletic functions. If it was a
football season, the basketball men and the
track men and other lettermen were out
(they were N’s), and they would cooperate
in seating the people that came to athletic
events, in entertaining, and doing things
like this—having the field in shape, and so
on. Now, then, if it were a basketball game,
the football men would be hosts. These men
were sold on the University— what I mean
is, they exemplified love and loyalty to their
University and encouraged other people to
be interested in the welfare of the institution.

The Block N Society became a fine
influence on campus. They eliminated the
different size letters and made them all the

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153

same size. Then they met in common to
work for the interests of the University as
well as athletics. In my day, when I was in
high school, the University sponsored in a
small way academic declamation and athletic
contests. I was in a declamation contest. And
I was on the track team (I won a race that I
wasn’t supposed to have won because I did
what I was told to do (laughing in the quarter
mile). At that time, contestants from Virginia
City and Carson and Reno and Elko, and
Winnemucca once in a while, entered the
contesting events.

At one time, I went to Tonopah to referee
a basketball tournament for southern Nevada.
I did all the refereeing in the basketball
elimination contest. The one that won that
contest had to come up and play in the
semifinal. The women played in the finals in
Reno. I refereed all those alone. It is interesting
to note that I was asked to go to Tonopah by
the coaches, but the winning team (they were
from Bunkerville) asked that I be appointed to
referee this zone tournament in Fallon. Now,
some of the boys that were on that team had
never seen a railroad train ’til they came out
of that Bunkerville area. None of them had
ever seen a lake as large as Walker Lake. I
remember we all waited in Sparks until they
changed crews, when the train pulled into
Reno, we got off and we walked up towards
the front of the train. This was the first time
they ever saw a big Mallet engine. Those boys
just dropped their suitcases and stared at the
locomotive.

This Noble Wait of the Bunkerville team
turned out to be one of the best basketball
players in the West. He played on my team
that was the runner-up the first year, and we
then won it the second year up on the coast—
Stanford and all of those coast colleges. An
interesting thing about him is that he had long
hair. He always wore a cap while playing, but it

was reversed—put the cap over here [with the
bill down the back] to keep the perspiration
from running down his back. He went on in
education and he coached down in southern
California for a long time.

Another instance: when I was coaching,
Mrs. Ross always attended practice and always
came over to games. She’d get terribly excited.
This time she was sitting on the north wall
balcony, right in the center. She was so excited
she began to hammer on the banister with
her hand. She knocked the diamond out of
her ring. When she discovered it, she let a
yell out of her and everybody stopped. Martie
of the physical education department of the
University was there and stopped the game.
He said, “The lady’s lost a diamond out of her
ring. We won’t play until we can find it.” He
told the boys to get the brooms and everybody
else to remain where they were.

About the time they arrived with the
brooms, Emily looked over and said, “There’s
something sparkling over there.” They found
her diamond.

Returning now to the university, Clarence
Mackay had donated money to construct the
Mackay School of Mines building and improve
the grounds in the Mackay quadrangle. At the
same time, he received an estimate on the
building of bleachers and an athletic field.
He was out here at one time and apparently
somebody suggested to him that, in addition
to providing the oval and the quarter-
mile track, that he provide the 220 [-yard]
straightaway, such straightaway to begin
south of the Orr Ditch and close to the dairy
building, to be added to the hundred-yard
straightaway.

I was president of the student body and
was invited by Mr. Mackay to accompany
him to look over the proposed project. He
informed me that the students and others were
anxious to extend the original plan in order

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Silas E. Ross

to provide a 220 [-yard] straightaway He was
giving the suggestion some consideration. He
asked me what my opinion was.

I thought a little bit; then I said, “Mr.
Mackay, you’re making it too easy for us right
now. Probably if the students had anything to
do with it, they would want this straightaway to
have the same number of running lanes as the
hundred-yard dash.” I called his attention to the
fact that if he did that, they would have to make
changes in the oval and change practically the
whole plan. That was number one. Number
two, I suggested that he might make this as
a conditional deed or gift to the University
and suggest to the students and alumni that,
“You would provide for the straightaway if
they would put in the culvert across the Orr
Ditch.” This would be only six lanes, but it
would cut in directly with the hundred-yard
straightaway. I said, “If you do that, say, as long
as they would provide the culvert for the six
lanes (they should be able to raise this money),
you would provide the expense for extending
the hundred-yard straightaway to two hundred
and twenty yards.”

He asked me a few more detailed questions
about the project. I explained to him the
advantage of providing the 220 straightaway
rather than running it around the circular
track, We then walked over the oval, and
also the necessary area to provide for the
straightaway. He listened quite attentively and
said, “I wish you’d come with me over to the
president’s office.

We went over to Dr. Stubbs’ office. We
told Dr. Stubbs of our conversation, and
Mr. Mackay said, “I like it and I’ll put in this
new 220 straightaway providing the students
and the alumni get together and contribute
to the cost of the program by building and
constructing the culvert across the Orr Ditch.
I think the suggestion of this young man is
good.”

This plan was decided upon. Notice
was given of it. The next thing that was
necessary in order to get started on it was to
communicate with the alumni, the alumni
officers and others, and see if they were in
sympathy with the improvement. That was
my duty as president of the student body. They
were all ready and willing to go ahead. Then
I submitted it to the student body and they
were willing to go ahead. But this question
arose within the student body: “How are we
going to raise the money? We pay so much
each year towards athletics, in addition, but
we can’t touch that.” But they were ready for
it if they could be assured of some method of
raising the money, extending the hundred-
yard straightaway to two hundred and twenty
yards.”

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155

were all ready and willing to go ahead. Then
I submitted it to the student body and they
were willing to go ahead. But this question
arose within the student body: “How are we
going to raise the money? We pay so much
each year towards athletics, in addition, but
we can’t touch that.” But they were ready for
it if they could be assured of some method of
raising the money.

I consulted a number of downtown people
and asked them what they would suggest in
order for the students to raise the necessary
money—what we could do. I met with a
downtown committee two or three times,
and they came up with the idea of a bulls’
head breakfast. Even though we were living
in a stockman’s country and area, that idea
was new to many of our people. Dr. J. La Rue
Robinson, Harry Gosse, and two or three
others agreed to act on a committee with
me, Gosse and Robinson both having had
experience in preparing bulls’ heads.

The student body, in agreeing to this
particular thing, consented to my going
ahead with it and offered any assistance that
I might need. We drew the specifications and
procedure. It was necessary for us to dig a big,
deep trench in back of the old gymnasium. It
was also necessary to get the bulls’ heads. It
was necessary to get the wood to get the coals;
it was necessary to make provision for a place
to serve this bulls’ head breakfast and get the
cooperation of someone who would cook the
biscuits and all of the things that went with
the breakfast, to consult and see if we could
get, first, a lady supervisor for cooking the
biscuits, coffee, and so on. [The next thing
was to] go out and get this stove. I was able
to get the hardware merchant here to donate
a stove that had been turned in on a new
stove that was adequate, and that was set up
in the gymnasium. I was able to get the coal
from a coal dealer to supply the heat. I was

also, through soliciting several of the people
that were supplying wood in the city, [able)
to get the necessary wood to burn and make
the coals for the barbecue pit. I contacted
the warehouse and got all the sacks that were
necessary to wrap the bulls’ heads and the
hardware people to get the wire necessary to
wire the sacks on the heads. The merchants
supplied the coffee; the dairy supplied the
milk and cream; and those that supplied
the coffee supplied the syrup, butter, and
such things as that that were necessary. We
borrowed such dishes as we could get from
the dining hall at the time and supplemented
with dishes from the Century Club and one of
the fraternal orders, and started on our way.
We appointed a chairman to have charge of
the opening and closing of the trench, and he
was able to borrow shovels and picks and such
things as that from the contractors around
here and from the University. Before that, I
had contacted the Nevada Packing Company
for the necessary bull heads, providing that
we could get along without the brain, it being
the custom in the packing plant to take the
brain from the head and use it for marketing.

Mr. Harry Gosse and Dr. J. La Rue
Robinson and Jay Clemons— darn, that’s
funny that name slipped my mind—Mr. IT.
A. Slater (he was the packinghouse man)
took charge of wrapping these bulls’ heads
and such things as that with the assistance of
the students, wrapping them in wet burlap,
getting the heads prepared to put in the
barbecue pit.

The barbecue pit was finished and in order
so that we could start in the late afternoon
on the day before the barbecue breakfast to
build our fires to get the necessary coals. By
late evening, the wrapped bulls’ heads were
put on the coals and immediately covered
with earth to a considerable depth. Wood
was then put on top of that earth and the fires

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Silas E. Ross

again started. It was estimated by the people
that were preparing the heads that we could
be ready for breakfast around ten o’clock in
the morning. The breakfast was served in the
gymnasium. The tables were borrowed from
such as they had at the University, the Century
Club, and some of the fraternal orders. Chairs
were obtained from the University.

Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you that one of our
merchants supplied paper napkins and so on
for us, and also, a type of tablecloth made out
of paper. The committee took care of that. Oh,
yes, and in borrowing this equipment, I was
able to borrow some old coffee pots and coffee
urns to prepare coffee.

When we were ready to serve, we had at
the barbecue tables to place the bulls’ heads
when removed from the pit Mr. Gosse and
Dr. Robinson, -and I forget who the student
was that helped (he’d had some butcher
experience), and I think at that time they
got Herb Humphrey to come in (he was a
cattleman here and also interested in the
packing company) to help with the carving.
People went by the pit tables, got their meat,
walked in with their plates and sat down in
the gymnasium.

And by that time, the boys had had the
tables set. They brought on the hot buns
and fried potatoes for our patrons and
immediately poured coffee. We had sugar
and cream on the table for those who used it.

As I remember, the estimate of cost of the
culvert was just a little over $1,600, outside
of the things that were supplied. What the
students, of course, wanted was about $800.
We netted off of that particular project a
little more than $800. It was interesting. We
received newspaper publicity, and a lot of
our students were local students, and they
interested their parents. The result was that—I
don’t remember what just we charged; it was
just a nominal sum, and our guests happily

put up their money and we netted a little
over $800, which was our share. The alumni
kicked through with contributions for their
$800, and we had that $1,600 to start within
a very short time.

Now, of course, in connection with a thing
like that, you have to take into consideration
the possibility of people getting in without
paying, so we organized through the cadet
battalion a patrol board. We didn’t allow
anybody to enter excepting on the side
towards the gymnasium. They had to pass
muster and have their tickets. Oh, yes. The
Reno Printing Company printed our tickets,
too, free.

Now, at that time, we wanted a cinder
track, and it was a question of whether we
could get enough cinders. In working with
J. M. Fulton, who was the representative of
the SP in this area (I forget what his title was,
but he was all over the system), he told us
not to worry. The railroad people brought
cinders from Carlin, Winnemucca, Truckee,
and Sparks at that time, and they even hauled
them for us. But before they even loaded
them, they screened them so we wouldn’t
have to work them over. He did accomplish
something. I think that this project brought
the alumni together, more than anything in
the past.

One of the reasons I believe Ewe had a
united alumni body) was that a little later, we
learned that the wife of Richard Brown, who
was superintendent of buildings and grounds
and in charge of Lincoln Hall and the dining
hall, had become seriously ill. It was right after
Brown retired, and expenses became heavy
and Brown went to Prof Wilson, who was the
head of the IC of P, to see if he couldn’t either
borrow some money on his K of P insurance
or cash it in in order to meet these obligations.
And dear old Prof Wilson said, “Dick, let me
investigate it.”

My Association with the University of Nevada

157

Wilson called me and asked me if I would
be willing to write a letter to the alumni that
had lived in Lincoln Hall and let them know
what the situation was and ask if they would
contribute to this emergency And he said, “I’ll
run it off on a multigraph for you, and I’ll run
a signature on it and you just initial it. And I’ll
put up the mailing, and as the money comes
in and we get as much as we expect or a little
bit more, we can pay for the stamps.”

You know, I don’t think I ever did anything
that pleased me more. It gave me a better
contact with all the alumni than I had. But
the replies came back almost immediately
with contributions saying, “I wished I could
give more.” And one fellow said, “I wished I
could give more, but here’s so much money.
That’s not a contribution,” he said. “That’s a
payment on the amount of chewing tobacco
that I borrowed from Dick while I was in
college” [laughing].

Now, while we’re on that, that gave me the
hunch to work with Prof Wilson to try and
raise money from the old THPO fraternity
members to contribute towards getting a new
house, and the result of that winter, we got a
whole bunch of them to contribute a dollar a
month. The alumni raised enough money so
that we could make the down payment on a
house that was down on North Center Street.
And we were getting along beautifully. The
boys moved in, and under Mr. A. W. Cahlan,
they remodeled this four-flat affair into a
fraternity house.

But the war came on. All the fraternity
men enlisted. They couldn’t ask the alumni
to carry the note, and they didn’t want to rent
the place, so the fraternity got something out
of the mortgagors on it and sold the property.
But there again, that contract with the alumni,
in connection with a University function for
a University function, brought them closer
together. And really, the real interest began

with that first thing that we started sometime
before.

I was president of the student body
when we had our football game against the
Barbarians. Mr. Mackay and members of his
family and distinguished guests were seated
in the little balcony of the training quarters
that overlooked the field, and then you could
open up off this big green. And after the game,
a group of students picked Mr. Mackay up
bodily and carried him across the track. And
they just picked him up on their shoulders and
brought him across the field and before the
bleachers. What an ovation he received! He
had a sombrero hat on and the miner’s boots,
overalls, and a blue shirt on top.

Now, it was my good fortune to be
treasurer of the student body in my junior
year and then president in my senior year,
and as a result of that, I had a lot of personal
contacts with Mr. Mackay. I know that he
came out here for some sort of a dedication
in connection with the field, and Dr. Stubbs
had a reception for him at the president’s
home to which he invited certain guests. But
we had asked Mr. Mackay if he wouldn’t go
out on the town with us. He agreed to go, but
he said, “I’ve got this reception.”

So we connived. And at a certain hour,
some students appeared over at the president’s
residence, including one Si Ross. It was fixed
up with Mr. Mackay that some of us would
be dressed as Though we were guests, and
the other fellows, otherwise dressed, would
be out on the outside some distance. I think
Mr. MacKay must have cued his family on
what was planned. We asked it we could speak
to Mr. Mackay. Mr. Mackay came out on the
porch, and that was the cue to the thing. He
then went back and he announced to his wife,
“Well, I’ll have to be gone for a little bit.” So
we picked him up and took him to Lincoln
Hall and dressed him up as a senior, and we

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Silas E. Ross

took in the town, and the next morning, we
had our breakfast at Mackay’s expense on the
Hotel Riverside lanai—ham and eggs.

I found him to be a very wonderful
gentleman, a man who wanted to know more
about his father’s activity I remember— I
think it was at the placing of the cornerstone
of the Mackay Science Hall. It was a dedication
ceremony. In my conversation with Mr.
Mackay, I said, “You know, if your dad was
here, he’d been tickled to death to have had
the Grand Lodge of Masons lay that stone
because he was a Mason and he belonged in
Virginia City.”

He looked at me, he said, “Would they
have done it?”

I said, “Yes.”

And he said, “I wished I’d’ve known at. I
would’ve had it done.”

There was a contact. I took him to Virginia
City and got one of the old register books and
showed him his father’s signature.

He [Clarence Mackay] apparently had
been solicited by many people for money.
Dear Dr. Stubbs had interested him in the
University of Nevada. The Mackay family is
the first one of anyone that made their money
in this state that put anything back in it. He
wasn’t here much, but he did that in memory
of his dad.

Another thing, Mr. Mackay had invited
me two or three times, “If you ever come to
New York, I want you to come to my office.” It
was a nice entree, but I never went. As a matter
of fact, I was never east until 1923. Well, so
much for that setup.

When I was teaching at the University, I
had the privilege of working with many of the
students. Many extracurricular groups were
organized. Many of these organizations have
become national in standing. Others have
been expanded and are working locally for
the benefit of the University. One organization

which became national was the beginning of
what the Blue Key is. And that’s the one I’m
trying to think of. The group was known as
the “Buck Grabbers.” The constitution was
the “Buck Grabber’s Creed.” It was founded
in 1922. In later years it became the Blue Key
organization. The author of the creed was
John Morse, who became vice president of
J. Walter Thompson, the largest advertising
agency in the world. It is claimed that the type
and border used to produce the document
came around the Horn in the early 1850’s.
Then I started the employment, too.

You know, I was invited as a guest at this
alumni affair. I’ve been a life member of the
association for years. But this [free season
pass] pleases me very much. I get this every
year. Now, that’s a little personal note from
Jake [Lawlor],

I was invited out the other night, and they
wouldn’t accept my money. Jake said, “You’ve
been a member all these years.” Old Jake says
that I did more for athletics in the University
than all the rest of them put together. We did
go through a lot of trouble to get it ironed out.
It took us into the Moseley administration, the
latter part of that, before we got it straightened
out. And still, it wasn’t perfected then until the
year that Newt Crumley and Roy Hardy and
Louis Lombardi, I think, came on the Board.

Speaking of maintaining traditions, the
question comes up, how do you discipline
them? They had traditions in the halls, the
living quarters, too, you know. And how
do you accomplish these things? And what
is your discipline? Well, they had a certain
group, the executive group. Infractions would
be reported to them and they would take
it under consideration. They would get the
parties together, the complaining people and
the others, and present you with [their case),
and they would penalize you. Or they’d give
you warning first, then finally penalize you.

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159

And still, if that didn’t do any good, why, you
might as well leave.

In Lincoln Hall, as long as I was there as a
student, and later as assistant for a couple years,
we always had somebody, or somebodies, who
wouldn’t—they just wouldn’t cooperate. Now,
then, if they didn’t comply, they were told a
second time, and depending upon the offense,
you were punished. There was one who was
just—he was generally nasty. He always
would talk back and so on. They picked him
up one night and they took him out to the
Dixon slaughterhouse and made him go up
that hill and put him in a barrel and rolled
him down in this barrel. And then they said
if he took that all right, fine. If not, they’d
help him carry it back and they’d do it until
he did. Then when he did that, they told him
to keep walking and don’t come back until a
certain time.

Another one they had was from the East.
He was quite a musician. He’d get out on that
balcony with his miserable old cornet, tootin’
and blowin it when you were trying to study,
and even sometimes at night when you wanted
to sleep. He didn’t seem to care for other
people. They warned him, but he kept going,
so they fixed this up. They said they’d try this,
and they knew they might ruin his cornet, or
whatever you call that instrument he played.
They went up to the room above where he
usually sat and they had a tub of water there.
He’d just got to going good, and they dumped
that all over the top of him. Then they picked
him up, dragged him in through the window,
and told him to change his clothes. They
would dry these other things and they’d give
him until tomorrow morning to come and
apologize, or he’d be shown the road.

Another chap insisted on growing a
mustache and doing his hair any way he
wanted to. He would walk across campus—
anything he wanted to do. Finally, he became

so unruly they told him to shave this mustache
and get his hair trimmed, but he didn’t. I recall
this because a counselor came to my room
about ten, ten-fifteen p.m. I was studying, and
[he] said, “Come with us.”

I said, “What’s going on?”

They said, “You come with us. We’ll give
you time to put your books away, and you
keep your mouth shut. This is a discipline
case, and we want you to see it so that you will
be informed. Next year, you will be a senior,
and we look to you to maintain the traditions.”

This man, his room was on the second
floor, practically over the kitchen of Mr.
Brown’s apartment. He was sitting at his table,
studying. Now, the committee were pretty
good-sized men. They framed the whole
thing. They had two who were going to take
him by the arms and shoulders, two for the
legs and feet, and then they had a fifth one
with a razor. They walked in and told him
that he was to be quiet and listen to what
they had to say and take what they had to
offer and make no noise. The fellow with the
razor said this: “If you do, we’ll just use this
to cut your throat. We’ll burn you up down
in the basement, and nobody will ever know
what happened.”

And with that, the two big fellows took
him by the shoulders and arms and lifted
him, and the other two fellows took his legs
and laid him on the bed and held him there.
The chap with the razor shaved one part of
his mustache off here [one side] with that dull
razor. The penalty was exercised; this threat
was there. They said, “We’re leaving, but we’ve
got some people on the door to guard it. Don’t
you leave it. Don’t you make any noise until
after eight-thirty in the morning.”

He didn’t, but he went over to the president
to complain. The president said he was glad
to get this information, but they had a system
of handling these particular things. The first

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Silas E. Ross

thing he would have to do was to talk with
Mr. Drown of Lincoln Hall. After that was
over, they would have to go before a faculty
committee. So this fellow left. Dr. Stubbs said,
“I’ll try to get that done today or by forenoon
tomorrow.”

So he came back the next day, and the
president told him that Mr. Brown said that
there was no noise at all in the building, that
that room was right over his place, and he’d’ve
heard it. But he was now going to refer it to
the committee on the faculty, and he’d have a
chance to be heard. The culprit got mad and
called the German consul at San Francisco.
This fellow phoned for an appointment, and
Dr. Stubbs graciously granted it, but he said,
“My program is filled up until tomorrow
morning Ca certain time).” So the man said
he would be here.

By that time, these boys were out of town.
Old Dick said, “Take your books with you.
Don’t write, or anything like that.” They fixed
it up with the faculty to send these lessons
out. The boys were out there a little over two
weeks. [After] two weeks, the matter settled
down, because when the consul did come up
and he heard the circumstances, that was the
end of it. Well, this chap left the school.

How, that’s pretty rough going. But they
never hurt anyone physically. In all the years I
was there, it a person got hurt, it was his own
darn foolishness by probably trying to drive
in with the group or trying to hit somebody.
And he’d probably be hit by somebody else,
you see? And you know, the faculty and all of
them cooperated.

How, maybe these things are wrong. But
here’s an older person that wouldn’t obey
tradition, thus setting a bad example for a
freshman.

We used to have KP every once in a while,
too. That was just this: you’d see boys and girls
work in the dining room and they had to clean

up. They set the tables and then had to clean
up afterward. They would probably give some
of the dissidents a little duty and they’d have
to stay around and do the cleaning up for the
regularly employed student.

Paddling came in through the fraternities.
It came in after I was out of the University.
They would discipline the offender by so many
paddles across—. You’d lay down—you’d lay
down on the table, and they’d get three or four
swats that way. But that type of punishment
was ineffective and dangerous.

I can remember the cadet major, L. D.
Skinner, calling us together (he was the head
of the THPO group at that time), and he’d
give us a lecture: “Our duty was first to the
University. The second was to learn to live
together here. And the third was to develop
ourselves to meet competition. And one of
the ways is to develop leadership. And there’
s certain honors that we have here. Now, my
suggestion is for you people to get together,
and each select at least one objective and
work towards its accomplishment as your
extracurricular work.” It was sound and good
advice. Among the objectives were the cadet
major, the president of the student body,
the president of your class, the editor of the
paper, and the manager of the paper. Then, if
you were an athlete, it would be your football
captain, track captain, baseball captain. The
other was the Academic League, but that was
changed so that the president of the Academic
League would be the president of the student
body. The student body was sponsoring the
League, the University was controlling it, but
the president of the student body was sort of
the chairman to see that it was all organized
and kept in shape.

Dad Skinner was to graduate that year,
but when it came time to vote it, one of the
faculty persons objected to him getting his
diploma because he lacked a certain amount

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161

of French to meet the entrance requirement.
She agreed that she would let him go up and
get a dummy diploma and she would also give
him the time, coach him up to get this credit,
and then to grant him the diploma afterwards.

Dr. Stubbs called him in and explained the
situation, and he said, “Mr. Skinner, I would
go through with it that way.” And he said,
“Just go over and see her and at least thank
her for it.”

So Dad went over and the lady admitted
him. He told her he was making the call by
suggestion of Dr. Stubbs. She said, “Yes, I’ll
do that, Mr. Skinner.”

“Well,” he said, “I’m not going to come
over. I came up to the University to study
mining engineering and I think I have learned
it. I have more credits than necessary to
graduate. All are solids. And I can go ahead
in the field. I didn’t come up here to learn to
be a sheepherder. I don’t need that French.”

He was afterward presented his diploma.

But anyhow, the boys were celebrating
that night when Dad received report of the
action of the faculty. They went downtown.
They had a few beers, but they felt good.
Dad went up the hill, and as his companions
started up the hill, he’d tackle them. They were
having a good time. And my, I can remember
one time a big bunch of noise coming up that
old board walk. They were having a good time
whoopin’ and hollerin’. A couple of ladies of
the faculty board heard the noise and reported
it to the president and gave the names of the
boys. The president called Mr. Brown in, and
after he told Mr. Brown about this and who
these people were, Dick said, “That time was
that?”

“Oh, eleven, twelve o’clock, something
like-.”

“It’s all a damn he. All a damn he. That
wasn’t any of my boys. They were all in the
hall. The doors were locked and I know it. I

was around.” He just stood by them—none
of his boys.

Oh, we had so many marvelous people,
Bob Lewers, for instance, Henry Thurtell,
Prof. N. E. Wilson, Cushman in the English
department, George J. Young in mining, a
man by the name of Reed in geology and
mineralogy, all heads of the departments—
and some over in the mechanical building. To
know them was to love them, because if you
had a problem, you could go to them and talk
it over. And if you had missed something that
was in his particular subject, he’d tutor you
and bring you up. Oh, the hours that those
men put in! And they were all busy people.
But those were the old-timers.

I didn’t know Mr. Jackson. I knew Charlie
Brown who succeeded him and then died
before he could get to work. Peter Frandsen
was another one of those old-timers, later,
Lehenbauer. We just don’t seem to have that
dedication today, and we haven’t had it for
many years. But that’s probably due to many
reasons. You didn’t have as many students;
the teaching load wasn’t as heavy. Yet, a lot
of these people taught clear across the board.
For instance, Reed was the only man in the
department; he took Louderback’s place here.
He taught mineralogy and geology, young, for
instance, went into the mining from surveying
all the way along. And they worked them
hard. Poor Pete Frandsen, he just had one
assistant with all of these students in biology,
but he always found time to help. You know,
the students appreciated it. in the event that
they didn’t cooperate, these profs’d say, “All
right” [waves his hand]. And that was it. They
could go their own way.

flow, that takes in a little bit on the
discipline and traditions. You know, I’m
satisfied that most of the faculty members
knew what the students were doing in the
matter of discipline. And while outwardly

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Silas E. Ross

they couldn’t endorse it, they were glad to see
the students take that interest to discipline
their own for the benefit of all.

When Mr. Mackay came, he gave us that
quadrangle and the theory behind it, later the
athletic field and some of the bleachers, and
the training quarters. There’s something that
set in the minds of us, when it was explained
to us that what they were attempting to do
was to reproduce the campus of the University
of Virginia, that this was going to be an
enlargement on the original plan of Thomas
Jefferson for the University of Virginia.
They even adopted the idea of these pillars.
The sidewalks were built out of brick. They
didn’t build the fence out of it. The walks,
of course, went around—the bricks on end
were in at an angle. They didn’t have enough
bricks, and they got the strength of it that
way. It would mean that it was centralized.
Then they showed room for expansion along
certain lines.

I know a lot of us sat down and read all
we could about the University of Virginia
campus plan. And the more we read about
it, the happier we were. They were going to
locate the administration building at the head
of the quadrangle; that’s Morrill Hall. But back
at Virginia, they had plenty of parking area
around there. We didn’t have it. If you have
a chance (they ought to be in our University
archives) to see that original plan, you’ 11
see a great big building on that site with a
big dome. That was to be the administration
building and auditoriums.

Really, I must say, I had a lot of genuine
presumption, but when Mr. Mackay wanted
to talk to me about the plan (that was in my
junior year), I expressed myself. I told him
that in the first place, I thought we ought to
preserve one of the old buildings for tradition’s
sake. And I would like to see the first building,
Morrill Hall, [saved). That’s the site that you

have for this administration building, where
people will go to park. Where’s your chance
for expansion if it’s going to take up the whole
end of that quad?

Now, you see, that plan was changed when
Dr. Clark came. The buildings are now where
the agricultural building is, and the education
building. Those were to be in along the quad,
just the same as they are on the east side. And
then they were to have a driveway through the
west of that and develop the other way Now,
Dr. Clark moved it over more and that was
changed. It’s supposed to have been changed a
half dozen times. Right now, the architecture’s
all different.

Now, going to the school of nursing,
Arthur Orvis was the one that conceived
this idea, and it was to be called the Orvis
School of Nursing. He started it out by
giving the University a certain amount of
money and the balance to come after we got
the school started. He outlined pretty well
what he wanted. I had met Arthur through
social contacts, and our families visited back
and forth. While he lived up at Elk Point, he
joined the Genoa lodge of Masons. He knew
that I was interested in Masonry and he said,
“Would the Grand Lodge of Masons lay the
cornerstone of this building if it’s built?”

I said, “Yes, all one has to do is to extend
the invitation. They’d be glad to do it.” And
that was remembered.

When the school [of nursing] was started,
before [construction on] the building was
begun (the nursing school, as I remember it,
was housed in a particular part of the Sarah
Fleischmann school of home economics),
they had a reception for the nursing students
and faculty over there. Arthur invited me to
attend the reception. So when I arrived, he
called the group of girls together and said,
“This is the man that saved this (school) for
you.”

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163

He said, “This didn’t progress as I had
hoped it would, and I had thought of just
forgetting about it, and,” he said, “I talked to
Mr. Ross about it. Mr. Ross advised that, ‘We
were late in getting the program moving; there
were other things that had to be done.’ We
had to deal with the legislature first. Mr. Ross
further said, ‘Arthur, you’re a man that’s never
gone into anything but what you’ve kept your
word. And we’d like to have moved faster, but
we’re getting along all right now.’ Then I said,
All right, go ahead.’ Si saved it.”

I was a little embarrassed because, really,
I never thought that what I said would ever
be repeated. I never felt that I was responsible
for saving the school. When they had their
first capping ceremony, Arthur insisted that
I attend. Mervylle and I attended, and we
had good seats. Arthur looked around, and
pretty soon he got me up, and I was sitting
on the stage with these girls, where again,
he mentioned that I had had a lot to do with
keeping him interested in the project until it
became a reality.

The University was arranging this (fiftieth
year class reunion), and they called me to
suggest a chairman. I suggested Stan Palmer
(he was active on the campus) and Effie Mack,
who was in Reno. At the last moment, I was
advised that neither of the two would act. I
had to take it over, and I had to do some quick
thinking. We had a lot of former students
come back. I made it my business to know
who these people were because they’d let us
know they would be present. I’d look them up
and place them that way. So we had classes
from the beginning on up to 1909.

We had the first introductory speeches,
and I had each one of them introduce himself
and give his year. That done, then we called
on each one of them for his class yell. Some of
them couldn’t remember it. Stan Palmer and
Effie Mack couldn’t remember it. Stan Palmer

and Effie Mack didn’t remember what class
they were in, and I had to give our class yell.
It was always, “Rah rah rah! Kick-a-rah-kine!
Nevada, Nevada, 1909!”

But some of the traditions, like how
we dressed to go to a school function, how
many university functions were allowed, the
traditions of our living, and things like that—I
had one of them there who slipped in the
dormitory when he was in the top of Stewart
Hall. I don’t know—we brought out a lot of
those little things that aren’t being done today,
or weren’t being done.

Then to get them interested, I made a
general statement, that undoubtedly every
one us had been in some sort of mischief that
was contrary to University policy, and to think
it over, and I was going to ask them later what
that was. And gee, I got some great stories!
And it was fun. We went on and on and on
on this thing until finally we had to close it.
We all had a good time. As a matter of fact, I
observed in introducing these fellows around
[that] they ought to know each other, but they
didn’t. And I would have to tell them. So I’d
kid them about it and tell them how old and
senile they were and cite those things. So it
turned out pretty well.

I wound the thing up by saying this: “We’re
all kind of willing to criticize. We all are prone
to do this. Well, I want to say this, that as far
as I’m concerned, I know that people have
interfered with our University. Politics has
crept into it and the like of that. The terms of
the presidents were varied, and each president
had his trouble with the legislature and with
other sources, and each class had trouble
downtown. But all in all, these presidents
accomplished something, something good.
And the things that they accomplished far
outnumbered any criticism. And every man
that we’ve had here (and I know them, all but
the first one; my father knew him and I knew

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Silas E. Ross

his son, but you can read his record), every
one of them, laid a foundation stone upon
which to build and accomplished a lot within
this University And we owe them much.” I
further said, “Some of these presidents were
in trouble when you were here. And some
of you weren’t as generous, just like some of
the rest of them now. But they’re part of our
University.” So I made a little speech and said,
“Let’s get together and boost.”

I then summed up some of these criticisms
which were unwarranted. And I called their
attention to this fact. I said, “You know, I’m
a farm kid. You can take a boy off the farm,
but you can’t take the farm out of the boy. But
I’m still interested in farming. But there’s one
thing that I do object to: that the agriculturists
are so well recognized that they can go out
and get plenty of money for the doctoring of
cattle and experiments, and so forth, yet we
even get sufficient equipment for research
here, and we can’t get enough for our health
layout, and so on.”

Career, A New Phase:
The State Analytic Laboratory

Mr. Scrugham conceived the idea of
making an analysis of the boiler waters of the
Southern Pacific between the Truckee and
the state line in the eastern part of the state,
with the idea of determining the effect of
the soluble salts in water on the boiler tubes
that carried the hot water. He came over to
Dr. [Maxwell] Adams and asked him if hed
cooperate in making an analysis of these
waters to determine the effect of the salts. So
they brought over these waters and Dr. Adams
asked me if I would take care of the analysis.
I said, “Yes, if you people have in mind what
you want.” So they decided that we would
analyze the waters and divide the samples
first, and then we’d use the other for an
experiment. Then they decided that the thing
to do was to pick sections of the boiler; they
were going to analyze the water first. Then we
would put the sections in the water, and as
they rusted, we’d make an analysis from time
to time to determine the corrosiveness of the
salt. That takes a period of time. So it’d only
been going about a month. Mr. Scrugham
was looking for a report right now. So he told

Adams and Adams came in to me, and I said,
“Look, Dr. Adams, we can’t do that kind of
report now. We haven’t had a chance for the
experiment to react completely. The only way
that we can do it properly is to continue the
experiment and determine the amount of the
salts that are in the water that are taken over
here. When we find that out, we can estimate
the amount of rust. As a matter of fact, that
rust should be taken out, dried, and weighed
to determine this thing.”

Well, Scrugham couldn’t wait that long.
He wanted it right now. So I said to Dr.
Adams, “All right, I won’t sign any report. You
can kick me out, but,” I said, “you know it isn’t
right. Now, if he wants to come over and look
at water, we’ll just stop our research and he can
determine for himself the physical purpose.”

He did. He wrote a paper on it. Didn’t
amount to anything.

Then I also did analytical work for the
food and drug department and would analyze
those samples of foods and drugs when they
came to the laboratory in the summertime.
Those days, you had your three months’

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Silas E. Ross

vacation, but two were supposed to be used in
improving yourself and end up your work with
a bibliography You had a month to yourself,
and the rest of the time the University could
assign you. So they assigned me this through
the summer. It was the best experience I ever
had. I can tell you stories on that.

Miles Kennedy sent me a snap that was
taken of the exhibit we made at the Fallon fair
not long ago. We went down to a mining camp
in Nevada, and I took samples of strawberry
jam, of fresh green peas and all-day suckers,
and so on down the line— butter—and we
brought the samples in and started to work
on them. I got sort of intrigued. I asked if
the department wouldn’t put somebody else
on the field work for a few days and permit
me to do the work in the laboratory on these
samples.

I took, I think, three all-day suckers and
dissolved out the coloring matter that was in
them. I diluted it, and purchased a little baby
chemise. You know what that thing is, the
diaper and the bootee (the little shoes) and
the little stockings. I dyed all of those from
the solution. We also found that the coloring
wasn’t a vegetable dye, but it was a coal-tar
dye.

After, we got into the peas, and I just
couldn’t figure the dye that would be in that
thing. I had a dickens of a time. I knew there
was something wrong. All at once, then, I said,
“There must be artificial color. What could it
be colored with?” And I said, “Well, now, I
have a hunch.” I said, “Copper sulfate.” It was
there. So I dyed a table setting—knife, fork,
teaspoon, soup spoon, butter spreader.

Now, I came to my strawberry preserves,
and I was stuck.: knew what should be there.
So I went to Dr. Adams and I said, “You know,
I think that these were artificially colored, and
I’d like to have permission to analyze them
and the liquid portion, also.

Then we came to this other thing, the
jam, and I was again stuck. Finally, I went
over to the agricultural department that had
the different grass seeds. I asked for some
strawberry seeds. I took them and examined
it, and I took this jam and examined it. No
soap. Pretty soon, I had a hunch. I went back
and got a lot of different samples and made a
comparison. Sure enough, these seeds were
little clover seeds.

I went back, then, to the matrix. I found
the matrix to be glucose. Then I went to the
coloring matter, and I found that that was
coal-tar dye. Then what would give it the
taste? Hydrochloric acid? Yes, just enough of
it to give the taste. Then there was also one of
these preservatives that they put in most of the
time—it’s still used. As long as it’s indicated on
the label there, they could use preservatives.

Then liquor was put under the food and
drug department. I went down to Sparks and
I went into a bar and ordered some bourbon
liquor. I poured three fingers. Then I put my
hand on the bottom of the glass and put this
little hydrometer in there, and the hydrometer
darn near jumped out of the glass. I sealed
it right away. I also took a sample out of
this bottle and sealed it and gave it to the
bartender. My bottle, with a seal the same
number as his, was placed in my bag. Then I
went to lunch.

Gosh, I had a time with this sample! I
talked to the other fellows in the department.
None of them could suggest what to do. I said,
“Well, this is adulterated, I think. But what
gave it the color? It isn’t burnt sugar.” But I
tried for it.

So we decided to go back to the bar. I took
Mr. Dinsmore with me. We conversed with
the bartender a little bit to see if he hadn’t
filled these bottles out of a keg. This was
admitted. The bar bottles were filled from a
whiskey barrel. So I said to Dinny, “let’s go

Career, A New Phase: The State Analytic Laboratory

167

down and take a look at this whiskey barrel.
Let’s draw some liquor out of it and seal the
spigot and seal the hole on top. One of us can
stay here, or we can both leave and go up and
analyze it.”

We found out certain things, and we
identified the alcohol. But we couldn’t identify
the coloring matter. It was diluted in the
alcohol. I suggested to Dinny that it would
be a good thing if we looked inside of the
barrel. These big barrels just have a hole in
the top in addition to the spigot. We took
possession of the barrel, and we knocked
a hole in the top and looked into it. [Cigar
butts] and cigarette butts floated on top of
the so-called liquor. And that’s where they
were getting the coloring. And that’s the
liquor they were serving to these poor old
Mexican patrons! We also found the scotch.
And the flavor was gotten from the juice of
these juniper (berries]. Oh, we had just a lot
of fun in those days.

Well, anyhow, we had that exhibit, and
I was the one that picked up most of the
samples, did the analytic work, so I had to
do the talking about our exhibit. I had a
large and interested audience. Now, those
all-day suckers would’ve passed muster if
the label had carried this information. Well,
I guess, probably the strawberry preserves’d
be all right if they would have labeled the
bottle, “Matrix, glucose.” We found a lot of
oleomargarine that was sold as butter. And
we did finally find a lot of these adulterated
products coming out of Utah when we went
over on our later visit.

A Career in Funeral Practice

Historical Sketch of
Funeral Practice

[Reading from notes and script]: Some
time ago, I wrote two articles, (1) “The Funeral
Customs Throughout the Ages,” and (2) “The
Acacia.” Both of these articles were published
in the Star and Trestle Board and the New Age
magazine. “The Acacia” was also published in
the 100th anniversary bulletin of the Acacia
Life Insurance Company. I believe copies of
these articles were presented to the University
of Nevada Library. Reference to these articles
may fill in any omissions that may be made
(in] describing the early first funeral customs
of the state of Nevada.

May I first completely outline burial
customs as practiced by the Egyptians, Greeks,
Romans, English, and New Englanders in our
first Colonies. It is to be remembered that
funeral customs first started in Egypt, and
the customs then were taken over in Greece
with certain modifications. Then from there,
it went to Rome with certain modifications,
and then from Rome, it went to England

with certain modifications, and then was
brought to the Colonies. And I’m making
some observations on this. The early funeral
services in Egypt, Greece, Rome, and the
British Isles had a religious motif and were
governed somewhat by necessary sanitation-
Dead bodies were buried as soon as possible
after death for these sanitary reasons. It was
the custom in earliest times for friends to dig
the grave six to eight feet in depth, lay a bed
of charcoal on the bottom of the grave, place
the body thereon, and cover it with earth
saturated with a nitros solution. This provided
for slow and inoffensive decomposition.

In checking the early records, we find
(738-1102 B.C.) that the Egyptians had
three grades of embalming: (1) the most
expensive—it consisted of the removing of
the brain and viscera, and then embalmed
and preserved them separately, and they
were placed in a series of four canopis, or
canopic jars or burial vases. The cavities of
the head and body were washed clean and
filled with spices and resins. The body was
then immersed in the soda solution for forty

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Silas E. Ross

days, following which time it was wrapped
in fine linen. Now, (2) is the less costly. They
injected cedar oil in the cavities without
evisceration. The body was laid in natrum or
natron (and that is a fixed alkali) for a fixed
period, at which time the cedar oil, which
had dissolved the soft organs, was released.
The body, the flesh of which was dissolved
by the natron, was reduced to preserve the
skin and bones. (3) The third, as practiced
by the poorer classes, consisted of purging
the intestines and soaking the body in soda
solution for seventy days.

The use of bitumen or pitch was a
later development and resulted in a hard
black mummy which tended to last almost
indefinitely. It is the type that, in the Western
mind, constitutes the proper image of an
Egyptian mummy.

Bodies were embalmed with expensive
unguents, spices, oils, and resins, but they
quickly lost their preserved condition when
unwrapped and were not likely to remain long
on public display.

Another method was to withdraw the
intestines from the side of the body. They were
then cleaned and immersed in palm wine and
afterwards covered with pounded aromatics.
The body was then filled with a powder of
myrrh, cassia, and other perfumes. The body
was then sewed up and covered with niter for
a period of seventy days. It was then washed
and closely wrapped in bandages of cotton
dipped in a gum which the Egyptians used as
glue. This all being done, the body was placed
in the coffin.

Now, chemical embalming in Europe:
In those days, the occupational specialists
were divided into four classes. One was the
designer or painter (that would be the coffin
maker, of course); two, the dissector or
anatomist; three, the pollinator or apothecary;
and four, the embalmer or surgeon, or in

some cases, the physician, the surgeon, and
the priest. So much for the Egyptians briefly.

Reverence for the dead permeates the
burial customs throughout all ages. The
preparation of the dead body was generally
done by family members. Washing of the
body was done by women chosen from the
next of kin. Laying out and dressing the body
was a sacred duty entrusted in like manner to
the female members of the family. No serious
attempt at embalming was made, although
the body was anointed with oils, perfumes,
and spices. And then, in the Greek custom,
they never buried a body naked. It always
had clothing on it. Now, to explain that,
nearly all of these had been wrapped in linen,
and such Things as that, and put away that
way. But the Greeks used the clothing of the
individual. We also find that cremation of
the dead began in Greece in 1000 B.C. And
in that area, they used coffins. They also used
tombs, and they were made of wood, stone,
and baked clay.

Now, the ancient Romans, and this covers
the early Christian, Hebrew, and Scandinavian
burial customs. I find that the resemblance of
many pagan funeral customs to our own is
so striking as to suggest that the practices of
Western civilization today were drawn from
Eastern non-Christian sources (probably
accidentally). It would appear that the basic
system of concepts underlying present
Western funeral practices are centrally rooted
in the Judeo-Christian mortuary beliefs.
Specific rituals and practices have resulted
from the rise of sects and denominations, and
even within these some modifications have
taken place. It was probably due to local and
national customs, factions, and whims. It is
claimed that the basic ideologies underlying
the Christian orientation to the dead and the
provisions for their disposition have remained
essentially unchanged today.

A Career in Funeral Practice

171

Now, the early Christian belief regarding
death and disposal of the dead were built upon
the general mortuary ideology of the Hebrews
as verified and expanded by the teachings of
Christ.

American colonial settlements were
founded in the main by English-speaking
people who sought freedom of religious
organization, Fortune and fame—or simply,
the chance to acquire a decent existence.
The Virginia Colony, founded in 1607
at Jamestown, had as its underpinning a
distinctly commercial motif. The impulse
behind the Massachusetts Bay Colony, on
the other hand, was primarily religious.
Having no quarrel with the established
Church of England, the Virginia colonists
incorporated it into their government. It
remained there along integral lines until
after the Revolution.

The Pilgrim Fathers, conversely,
rejected not only the Anglican but all
other denominations and sects except their
own creed. They set up a theocracy which
continued for well over a century. Now, by
theocracy, they meant this: that there was set
up a belief in a Supreme Being, not necessarily
the god that you and I worship, but it could be
any of these things, and they were at liberty
to worship that way. In other words, they
had many gods in this thing. In neither case,
however, was [there] any reason compelling
the dissociation of death and the disposal of
the dead from a sacred or religious context.
On the contrary, death became one of the
prime occasions for pulpit sermons on the
essential mortality of mankind and the need
for more exemplary ways of living.

A broader and more far-reaching
development was the attempt by the colonists
to shed their legal system of ecclesiastical
law and to formalize the controls of the New
World society by recourse only to common

law tempered by the inference that, “if it isn’t
reasonable, it cannot be good law.”

Early American burial was in the
churchyard. Work, ownership, substance, and
salvation became parts of a unity of existence
that had made up life in the colonies, founded,
as it were, upon the principle that held, “Hard
work is akin to godliness.

Now, the early American burial practices.
New England graveyards were familiar places
to the living as well as a resting place for the
dead. That’s a statement. Gravestones not only
identified the bodily remains, but through
inscriptions in the form of epitaphs served as a
medium for proper literary expression (using
that advisedly). The dead were not alienated
from the living in colonial times, rather, the
inscriptions spun the thread of remembrance
to the unique personalities of those who had
passed on. That’s interesting to go back in those
inscriptions. Death was never denied. In fact, the
most persistent symbol of early New England
days was probably the skull and crossbones.

Early New England burials were models of
simplicity and quiet dignity. Mourners merely
followed the coffin containing the dead body
to the graveyard and stood silently as the grave
was filled. In later years, mourning took on
an extensive social character. Rings, scarves,
gloves, books, poetry, and needlework all
were used by the Colonists in the process of
paying tribute to the dead. They handed them
out. (Until this last war, one of the things that
we used was pallbearers’ gloves. We don’t use
them any more.) Vast numbers of each were
given away, and the quality varied with the
social status, blood relationship, or friendship
that the recipient had with the bereaved. And
this is interesting; I found this: In 1721,1724,
and 1742 the General Court of Massachusetts
passed laws prohibiting extraordinary
expense at funerals.” Now, you’ll see why a
little bit later.

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Silas E. Ross

A typical New England town funeral in
the middle 1800 s indicates the following basic
pattern: Upon death, neighbors— or possibly
a nurse, if the faintly was well-to-do—would
wash and lay out the body. The local carpenter
or cabinetmaker would build the coffin,
choosing the quality of wood to fit the social
position of the deceased. And in special cases,
they used the term “coffin furniture” (that
means decorations). That would be added to
the coffin, and these were metal decorations
imported from England. Relatives and
friends within a day’s travel would be notified
immediately. It was not customary to let the
body he in state. If the weather was warm,
the body would be embalmed and placed in
cerecloth. And that cerecloth is sheets soaked
in alum, pitch, or wax. And sometimes,
alcohol sheets were used. Rings, scarves, or
gloves would be distributed to all those invited
to the funeral. The procession to the grave was
on foot with underbearers actually carrying
the coffin on a bier, while pallbearers, who
were the men of dignity and consanguinity,
held the corners of the pall. If the distance
was far, fresh underbearers were used; and in
any case, the procession went slowly and was
marked by numerous rest stops.

Now, these what they call underbearers
were the people that were working with these
new ways and became quite prominent during
the Civil war. They used the pall for the reason
that it would protect the casketed body from
storms or anything like that, but it would be
hidden from those that might be bandits and
such things as that. And I can find some old
pictures of that. They had six, and they had
this canopy above it, and they would carry
that, the pallbearers would.

And this idea of underbearers, when I was
writing this, I was reminded of the time when
I was in college, one of our boys died rather
suddenly, and they had a little service for him

here in the mortuary. The cadet battalion
turned out as an honor guard. And then they
had bearers; they had twelve of us, and six
would carry a while, then the others, and we
accompanied that body from the mortuary to
the station, where they put it in the shipping
chest, and they sent it over to Genoa.

In many towns there were no gravediggers;
consequently, neighbors supplied the
necessary labor. Sometimes the church
sexton dug the grave and slowly tolled the
bell to announce the funeral. He collected
a fee for each service. And the bell would
toll very slowly and lasted over a period of
several minutes. The purpose of tolling the
bell was to notify people that there was a
funeral procession coming. Now, the Roman
Catholics used to toll a bell when we were
approaching the church, but they don’t do
it any more. The sexton was an all-around
man in those early days in the church. He was
the janitor; he had charge of the grave—the
digging of the graves and tolling the bell, and
so forth. And he was paid.

It should be noted that the funeral customs
varied somewhat with nationality. Historians
claim that there were great social changes
in the New England colonial days resulting
from two revolutions, one political, the other
economic; and that is the Revolutionary
War, and then the economic period after
that. American urbanism developed the
aristocratic class, the middle class, and the
lower class. Extravagance sprang up, and
new and more elastic codes of conduct were
accepted. Elaborate and more costly funerals
were noted, resulting in a shift to simpler
customs. Hence this thing that I mentioned up
above here; I’ve mentioned it again. With the
economic revolution and legislative scrutiny
came a material change in funeral behavior.
The luxury of gloves, scarves, rings, and so
forth was eliminated. Even the luxury of food

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173

and drink was cast out. Aromatics, perfumes,
and so forth, were cut out and replaced by the
use of sawdust and tar and the use of iceboxes.

I’m jumping now from that early day to
the Civil War. Following the Civil War, the
preservation of the dead was felt as a need.
There was a rapid rise, spread, and acceptance
for a body to be preserved preliminary to the
proper interment. And by preserved, we mean
embalmed, such as they had in those days.
Another aspect of this development was the
attention, ingenuity, and effort directed to the
preservation of the dead by many persons
acting independently and often unknown to
one another. Some say that one of the reasons
for the rapid and virtually universal spread
of embalming in America was “a new way
of living in the world” and new social forms
emerging in the caste of American funeral
behavior. In other words, it had to be a display.

Village life to some extent was founded
upon the mutual aid and protection. The
pattern of defense was to live together,
rather than to fortify each dwelling. Small
settlements fostered a community spirit which
was expressed in either church or family
graveyards. The family plot has always been
a common element of cemetery organization
in America. (I think I mentioned that.) Much
importance was attached to being gathered,
not only to but with the fathers.

Now, about this time, the compact
village did not commonly appear west of the
Appalachians. After the Indian raids had been
minimized, it was safe for rural people to live
in distant places in the farming areas. Now,
they had their cemeteries, and even though
they lived some distance, they would come
over and bury there. Now, that time also
promoted, or rather, manifested or showed the
necessity of proper temporary preservation of
the body, you see, to go this distance. Thus, the
need for more adequate and reliable methods

of body preservation was generated to the
extent that the desire to be buried “at home”
called for the transportation of the body some
distance.

Utility of chemical embalming had been
demonstrated in England, Prance, and so
forth, but with no appreciable amount of
popular acceptance up until that time. The
American methods of preserving the body
up to the Civil War was based on the simple
rudiments of refrigeration, air-tight burial
cases (hermetically sealed leaden containers
is what I mean by that) enclosed in shipping
boxes, and also corpse coolers. Chemical
embalming by injection was brought into
American funeral practice shortly before the
Civil War. Research and development in The
production of fluids was done more or less
independently by physicians, anatomists,
and chemists. In America, zinc chloride
compounds for the preservation of dead
flesh was used. Now, arsenical and mercurous
compounds were used in England but
were outlawed in France. Today, we are
not permitted to use arsenical fluids or
any mercurous compounds. We can use a
mercurous compound to bathe a body where
they have infection, and such things as that.

Now, this may be interesting, coming to
The Civil War burials. Now, mind you, this
is started ahead; it was done ahead of time,
and a lot of it was done because so much of
the Civil War was around Washington, ID. C.,
and that’s where most of it began. But when
it extended, General Order No. 33, issued by
the War department in 1862, reads as follows:

In order to secure, as far as
possible, the decent interment of
those who have fallen or who may
fall in battle, it is made the duty of the
commanding generals to lay out lots
or ground in some suitable spot near

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the battlefield as soon as it may be in
their power and to cause the re mains
of those killed to be interred with
head boards on the graves bearing
the numbers, and where practical, the
names of the persons buried therein.

A register of each burial ground will
be preserved, which shall be noted
and marked corresponding with the
headboard.

The opening of the Civil War found
embalming and the compounding of
embalming fluids monopolized by physicians,
surgeons, physiologists, anatomists, chemists,
pharmaceutical druggists, and other persons
connected with the rising medical profession. Its
closing saw changes which eventually brought
these processes and preparations almost
completely under the control of the pharmacists
and undertakers. Now, the undertakers at that
time were those other persons connected with
the rising medical profession, see, and they were
the periphery group, as they were called. Then,
of course, the wholesale chemical compound
concerns started then.

The decade following the war, we find the
surgeon-embalmer playing a less important
role. He was less eager to make a career out
of embalming than were others outside of
the peripheral to the medical arts. And the
undertaker, so to speak, advanced.

This period became to the undertakers—
or what we now call funeral directors, or
funeral service operators—one of great
opportunity. They experimented with
new practices and ideas and reviewed the
developments in the funeral field as they had
been augmented by the war, such as funeral
processions, ceremonial disposal of the
dead, pageantry, mournful simple silence,
noise and excessive behavior (wakes), mock
gaiety, or real gloom. It was said that “the

funeral procession is a dramatic movement
involving many actors.” That goes back, you
see, to all these people that processed it. It
has also been said that “of all processions,
the funeral procession is the oldest, but the
funeral varies widely in different countries.
It is one of the most human acts.” The word
“funeral” is derived from funeralis, the Latin
for torchlight procession.

Now, I’m starting the migration of ’49.
During the great migration to the West in
1849 and following the Civil War, many of
the early and later funeral customs of New
England were practiced en route and in small
settlements. Small rest and change stations,
supply villages, and later, communities, grew
up. There were deaths along the way. Most
small settlements established a graveyard in
which the burials were made. Identification
of the graves was similar to those adopted
by the government during the Civil War. In
many cases, relatives returned and erected
gravestones to mark the graves of their loved
ones, similar to colonial days. At times, death
occurred long distances from a settlement.
In such cases, the body was buried along the
route and wooden crosses (were] erected
on the grave and stones placed thereon as a
support and for protection of the cross.

Now, I’m jumping. Several wagon trails
across Nevada and many change and rest
stations were established, as well as small
villages. Small communities were established
in the agricultural areas and mining camps.
The records show that graveyards were
soon established in each area. Many of
the mining camps and small villages have
been abandoned. Yet, the gravestones tell
the story of the pioneer who braved all
vicissitudes in order to provide freedoms—
the freedoms established by the Declaration of
Independence, the Constitution of the United
States, and the Bill of Rights.

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175

Now, we say in the early days of Nevada,
funerals in rural areas followed this pattern:
Women layers-out were common; the
cabinetmaker made a coffin; friends opened
and closed the grave; they walked to the
cemetery; undertakers carried the casket;
pallbearers carried the pall. If the distance to
the cemetery was great, the close neighbor
drove a team of horses attached to a spring
wagon or buckboard to haul the casket.

Now, later in Nevada, coffins were available
in the cabinet worker’s shop or a combination
furniture store. The caskets were lined by the
cabinet worker or his wife or the funeral dealer
or the furniture dealer or furniture maker. A
coroner or medic determined the cause of
death. No certificate of death was required in
the early days. Rude cemetery records were
kept by the undertaker. The man would take
them down on just a piece of paper.

As the community grew and conditions
were more stable, legislation was effected
requiring certificates of death to be filed and
permits issued for the burial. Cemeteries
were regulated. And as the mining camps
became more stable and men experienced
in preparing the dead moved to the camps
and nearby areas, the undertaking profession
grew. Usually they were connected with some
other business or occupation.

There were no embalming schools in the
early days. One learned from practical men
or proctors, who had learned from peripheral
men who became undertakers after the close
of the Civil War. In the late ’90’s and the early
1900’s, short courses were offered by men
well versed in mortuary practice as learned
from those who served during the Civil War.
These courses were offered over a period of
one month or six weeks. Then compends (they
got out a book) were prepared and printed for
reference for the beginners, and it covered
anatomy and a lot of things like that.

[Reading from notes and script]: The
records indicate that the American period of
Nevada began in 1851. The Mormons were the
earliest colonizers in Nevada. It appears that
the first colony to be settled in western Nevada
was early in the 1850’s. They settled first in
Carson County, Utah territory, in the area of
what is now the western border of Douglas
County. This encompasses Genoa, Washoe
Valley, and Pleasant Valley between Carson
City and Reno. Later colonies were settled
in the eastern and southern part of Nevada
adjacent to the western line of the state of
Utah. And some came to central Nevada.
Their main pursuit seemed to be the raising of
stock and agriculture. The individual holdings
were quite far apart, yet central burial grounds
were often provided, and in many cases the
dead were still buried on the farm.

With the discovery of gold and silver
in Nevada and substantial mining camps
developing, one of the first things done by
these settlers was to set aside ground for
cemeteries. Some were church cemeteries,
some nationality cemeteries (like Greeks,
and so forth), some fraternal. The prevailing
idea was to set aside a large tract of land
for burial purposes. This tract was often
subdivided into small areas, each area being
set aside for church group, a fraternal group,
or society group, and the balance of the
general part to the general public, who had no
church or other affiliation. The organizations
joined in the expense of maintaining the
cemetery. Sextons were sometimes employed
to open and close the graves. The sexton was
permitted to charge a fee for his labor. As the
state developed and population increased,
business areas were established in locations
centrally located to accommodate the mining
and milling ventures, stock raising, farming,
freighting, and other commercial activities.
These communities were usually located on or

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Silas E. Ross

near railroads and regular freight lines. Here,
too, provision was made for and land set aside
for burial purposes. Now, I will expand on that
in just a moment. No provision was made for
care or anything like that. And in a great many
instances, there was no indication as to how
they acquired the land or from whom it was
acquired. Theyd go up on a high spot and set
this out. (Dayton is one of those cemeteries
over here.) It would be fenced and such things
as that, and it seemed to be a community
affair, and the groups that wanted portions
set apart did it. You can see that in the present
Virginia City cemetery and in Carson and in
others.

Now, thus having given you this beginning,
I make this remark: The influence of many of
the early New England funeral practices were
followed in early Nevada, such as layers-out,
early burial, walking to the cemetery, the
casket, tombstones, and so forth. Later, teams
with a buckboard or spring wagon were used
to transport the body to the cemetery.

Now, the next part are trends—and I
mean trends in this state. As many of the
mining areas developed into urban areas,
we find transitions in funeral behavior in
Nevada which correspond with those of
the New England colonial days. Classes
and extravagance sprang up, and new and
more elastic codes of conduct were accepted.
When the economic revolution (that means
the closing of mines and scattering of the
population due to hard times) occurred in
Nevada, there was a change to simpler systems
or customs in funeral behavior. Luxuries were
abandoned, gifts were eliminated, and so
forth. Again, New England.

As the state developed in rural areas,
applied related industries, and so forth,
funeral behavior was improved. The new
mining boom developed in the early 1900’s—
Tonopah, Goldfield, and Ely. Now, I’m

jumping a lot of space in here, but I wanted to
hit the highlights. The transportation facilities
contributed to a more stable situation in the
state, and funeral behavior grew as well more
stable.

The next topic will be the development of
the funeral livery. Now, we started out with
human carriers and the pallbearers, then the
buckboard and the spring wagon, then came
the dead wagon. That’s what it was called. It
was just a wagon which was enclosed, the
driver sitting up in front and on the outside
with the assistant, and the door in the back
to put the body on a stretcher and put it in.
I made this observation—and I already said
that, too—the driver and the assistant sat on
a seat. The wagon was oblong in shape to
accommodate the carrying basket or stretcher,
the width and height to accommodate with
removal shafts or tongue. Rollers were in the
bottom to carry the stretcher.

Now, in due time, then, in urban life, better
proportions were made in height and width of
this thing, and we have what we today call a
funeral coach; it was then a hearse. It had glass
panels on the sides, some ornamentation.
Now, then, later, they developed that into a
more conspicuous and ornate thing, and they
had a lot of hand-carved corners and trim
on it. Then, within a period of a few years,
additional ornamentation was added, such
as carriage lights, flower racks, drapes for
the horses, and plumes on harness. Then the
glass was tossed out because it fractured, it
was hard to keep clean, and because people
were objecting to the public looking through.
They tried drapes, and that didn’t work, so
they then went to a hand-carved, or rather, a
complete body, hand-carved. That was used
for quite a while, and then was the advent of
the automobile, flow, then, when that came in,
they took the old hearse bodies and mounted
them on a chassis, and they built an area onto

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177

tins, lengthened it out, so that the driver and
the assistant was on the inside. I can show you
a picture of that. Now, that’s as much as I’ve
given on the hearse.

Now, the next is the hacks for mourners.
These were enclosed. They had an entrance on
both sides and then they had two seats, each
wide enough for three people; the seats faced
each other. The driver was on the outside in
front of the family compartment to drive the
team. In addition to that, they provided what
they called a pallbearer’s carryall. It was sort
of a bus-type [vehicle] drawn with horses, and
such things as that, but it was open with the
exception of the curtains. They had three rows
of seats, one behind the other and all facing
the seat, to accommodate these pallbearers
or any extras. Sometimes in the back end of
it they would put flowers when traveling out.

Now, at that time, the livery was usually
owned and supplied by the livery stable
owner. Now, the reason for it was this: [if] the
funeral director was trying to put those things
in, he would be up against providing a stable,
feed, horses, harnesses, and things which
would increase the overhead and also increase
his investment. Now, the livery people, having
plenty of horses and plenty of hostlers, and
such things as that, could operate those
things at a minimum cost. And that was the
condition when I entered the business here
in 1915. I have here (a note that) the livery
was usually owned and supplied by livery
stable owners. Some stables operated only
one hearse, one hack, and one pallbearers’
car. Now, that would be in a small community
like Wadsworth or a small community like
Silver City, maybe Gold Hill, Gardnerville,
and places like that. I’m using the present
area. In Reno there were three hearses, six
hacks, and two pallbearers’ carryalls which
were available, each with hard rubber tires.
It made a lot of difference, too. One small

white hearse for children, one gray hearse for
young adults, and one black hearse for older
people. The hacks and carryalls were black
in all cases and were used for every funeral.
The black horses were used for older people
hand that’s with a black hearse), gray or bay
for the young adults, and white or light gray
for children. Sorrel horses were usually used
in the carryalls and bays for a hack. Now, I
say usually; they would change those over.
It didn’t make too much difference, but they
would try to have them matched, don’t you
see. And they could use those extra horses
there. Here’s an interesting thing, too. Every
one of those horses that were in there were
checked alike, so their heads were at the same
angle—not one horse with his head way down
here and the other one up in the air. They took
a great deal of pride. Really, the interesting
part of it is that the drivers on those hacks all
had a regular suit to wear. The hearse driver
had a Prince Albert and he wore a plug hat.
The driver of hacks and the pallbearers’ carrier
had a suit and it was usually dark, and they
wore beanies. How, so much for that.

In Eureka County in 1879, five men were
killed in a local war between the mine owners
and charcoal burners. The coroner determined
the cause of death, the cabinetmaker provided
the coffins, and the proprietor of the livery
stable supplied the livery and conducted
the funeral. Apparently at that time in the
liveryman arranged and conducted funerals.
He had the coach.

Now, the advent of the automobile: In the
early 1900’s, hearse bodies were placed on
auto chassis and a seat added in front of the
hearse body for the chauffeur and assistant.
Now, that’s not here, but that’s in the larger
metropolitan areas, but we’re bringing us
up to it. The old horse-drawn hearse was
discarded for specially built bodies made to
fit the standard chassis. Floral racks were built

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Silas E. Ross

into the compartment containing the casket.
And let me say here that placing the hearse
bodies on the standard chassis was not a
success, and so they took to lengthening those
ordinary chassis. That was not a success for
the reason that the stress and strain and so
forth weakened a part of it. Finally they had
chassis, in the more modern times, built for
that particular purpose.

Now, to bring it right down to this [time],
the first auto hearse in Nevada was purchased
by Grosbeckand O’Brien in Reno about 1915;
it was either late T 5 or early T6. It was gray in
color, and the side panels were of glass, and
they had some drapes. It didn’t work out too
well, but it was used in all funerals, and if you
needed hacks or anything like that, we’d have
horse-drawn stuff.

So I was in the business at that particular
time and I began to study it. I found that
probably we would better go to the Hancock
hearse. We got Mr. Kitzmeyer of Kitzmeyer
and Kinney interested. We purchased two
cars; they were called Sayers and Scoville
hearses—that’s the name of them. The bodies
were built by the body works of Sayers and
Scoville, and they had a chassis assembled
in different groups in order to give it plenty
of length and such things as that. In order
to try to get away from coal black, we took a
gray and Kitzmeyer took a black. And in the
event that he had a request for the gray, we’d
drive ours over, and if they had a request for
a black (that happened quite often here with
the Italian families)—. In that way, we would
be competition, plus.

Now, let me say that all of these hearses,
even from the beginning of our funeral
coaches or whatever you want to call it,
opened from the end. You put the casket in
there and then you took it out from there.
It was, oh, maybe the early twenties that
they went into the limousine type of hearse.

They had their different concerns that built
the bodies and at the same time came in
the seven-passenger accommodation. There
were two or three or more body people.
Most of them went to Cadillac to get their
chassis built, but that finally ran into so much
money that they had to go to cheaper cars in
order to take care of this particular thing. So
we have here that the old hand-carved and
so forth were replaced by limousine types.
Also, around 1925 or ’26, there was a further
development in that funeral culture to have
both end and side loaders. But in order to
accomplish that, it was necessary for them to
build a table that could be brought up on the
side and brought out so that you could get the
casket on it, and then it switched in- It came
in about that time.

Now, I made this observation, that the
limousines replaced the hacks and so forth.
Styles then became—well, some kept pace
with new designs. The funeral directors found
that, unless they were in metropolitan areas
and had big volumes of business, they weren’t
able to make changes every year. So when they
purchased a car, they would figure it was going
to be good for several years.

Now, the bodies were good on all of
those, but the engines petered out much
more rapidly and on shorter distances than
the ordinary car for the reason that most of.
these funeral processions were driven slowly
and only for a small distance. We used to
take our cars [out] every so often. We’d drive
them from here out to Beckwourth and back
in order that we could get them in condition.

Now, at that particular time, nearly
all of the cars were black or gray, and
essentially gray. Then we found that the
color combinations were changed, usually in
keeping with the tastes of the funeral director
who observed what the taste of the public was.
I know that when we changed, we went into

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179

what was called battleship gray on the body
with a dark top. It was an economical thing,
too; it was easy to wipe the top off if you were
having one funeral after the other, but you
wouldn’t have the time to wipe the sides; and
if it’s gray it wouldn’t show so much, you see?

Now, the next point I want to make is
this, that most operators now own or lease
their motor equipment. They owned them for
a long, long time. But the modern operator
does keep maybe a hearse and a pickup car
or a limousine, even though he’s in an area
where he can hire livery. He does it to take
care of our-of-town work, because when you
hire auto livery, they charge you quite a bit
more than usual to run it, but they’ll permit
your men to drive your own car. And on long
distances, they double up. For instance-, if
they want twenty-five dollars for a hearse
here, they would want fifty dollars in Carson
City. And when they tried to put it in here,
they wanted us all to throw away our own
equipment.

We find now that the long distance
transportation has seen the body transported
by truck, freight, express, baggage (air
and water as well as land). Now, since the
air, carrying bodies, and also due to the
improvement in highways and such Things
as that, and The lack of interest on The part
of the railroads to transport bodies, we have
a new era at the present time and they have
what is called the hearse delivery service.
It’s a business in its own right, by land. For
instance, if we are having a body prepared
in Los Angeles, we could have hearse service
pick that body up, and they have a terminal;
they’d haul it. And say, if it came up out of
Las Vegas and 395, they’d probably haul
it to Bishop. Then it’d be transferred and
they’d haul it in here. If it came up the valley,
there’d be a couple of transfers. We also find
that it’s quite advantageous because of the

poor connections by both air and railroad
where they would take them into the small
communities off the main lines. So that has
become quite a problem in itself. I know that
there’s a man from Reno, and he’s taken up a
chap that used to belong with us. [They’re]
setting up a service headquarters in the San
Francisco area to operate from Los Angeles-
San Francisco, and from there on to Portland
and, oh, Seattle. And they’re going to try to
arrange with the local services to take it out
on the sidelines, and so on.

Now, another point that I’m making here
[is the location of the] funerals. In the early
days, most funerals were conducted from
the residence, church, or a lodge hall. But
during the last twenty-five to forty years,
most of the funeral homes have erected or
built chapels. They have provided parking
areas. That’s probably due to the fact that
people in the old days used to have large
homes where the bodies could be laid out.
Now they live in smaller quarters. One of the
objections they have to going to a church is
that the churches have no family privacy. The
churches don’t as a rule, have parking space.
Now, the fact that we’ve provided that space
makes mortuary chapels more popular. The
church, of course, would like to have the
service there. (And as far as I’m concerned,
if anything happens to me, I want my body
taken to the Episcopal Church. I want a short
Episcopal service; then I want the Masons to
pick up from there and go to the cemetery.)
But the trouble is this: we haven’t—well, the
Presbyterian Church has some parking area,
though; the Baptist Church has some; and
then the Congregational Church has some
parking area other than on the streets.

In the early days when they went to lodge
halls, they had no trouble with parking.For
instance, we used to have a lot of our Masonic
funerals right from this temple, and our

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Silas E. Ross

Elks funerals right from the Elks. And we
had a parking area. This parking area is now
business. You go to the St. Thomas Church
in Reno, and by Jove, you have just a dickens
of a time saving space enough to carry the
casket out. - You have to double-park and
things like that.

We (Ross-Burke Company) were the
first to provide off-street parking; we finally
increased it to one, two, fifty— a hundred
and some-odd feet on Fourth Street by a
hundred and forty, and then we had an “L”
in there, about fifty by fifty. Then we later
increased across the alley, and on the left, we
had ground purchased. So if we had traffic
congestion in the main streets, we could load
off the original parking area, then cross over
the alley through the two lots that we have on
West Street, thence to Fifth Street, and out to
the cemetery.

Now, we find this: in the larger
metropolitan areas, the funeral directors
are moving out where they can get more
reasonably priced land. They’re building
on a unit plan now, what we might call a
farmhouse plan, all one story and plenty of
parking area around it. The result is that we
have little local areas. And some of the people
that are operating in the metropolitan area
are now established chapels in the less dense
areas. They use their main business building
as a place for selecting the casket, records,
and such things as that. They minimize the
investment in the livery that they use.

Next, I have cemeteries and the outline of
the history to date. Now, I’d like to suggest to
you that when you begin to read this that you
refer to the address that I made at the ground¬
breaking ceremonies down in Las Vegas for
that mausoleum.

Now, I have this here: (1) Our cemeteries
were village, community, church, public,
fraternal. I’ve already said they sometimes

unite and combine their cemeteries. In those
early days, they erected stately monuments,
and the identification on the inscription was
evidence of who the person was, what he did,
and so forth. I’ll show you later where now
we’re eliminating monuments and using grass
markers to mark the graves.

To illustrate, I’ll cite some cases. I’ve
said often the evidence is written on the
gravestones in the abandoned mining camps
and ghost towns and a lot of abandoned
business centers and villages. I call your
attention to these: Gold Hill, Silver City,
Dayton, Como, Virginia City, Sutro, Aurora,
Bodie, Tybo, lone, Belmont, Eureka, Austin,
Hamilton, Treasure Hill, Unionville, Palisade,
Cortez, Mineral Hill, Tuscarora, Cherry
Creek, Searchlight, Wells, Fort Churchill,
Port Halleck, Battle Mountain, and on the
early ranches. There, you still find these
monumental stones.

I’d like to call your attention to this, and
that is the type of firms, or the men that
operate the firms in the state now. A lot
of them operate around these abandoned
cemeteries, and from time to time following
the early settlement, they were bringing the
bodies back home. They made trips to the old
burial lots. I say this: The funeral directors
in Nevada operating near these abandoned
or nearly abandoned cemeteries strive to
keep the record of interments and interest
the people who reside nearby to keep the
cemetery clean and fenced. In addition to
that, they have recorded the inscriptions on
the gravestones and their locations and have
them in their own files for posterity.

Now, let me in here expand. The early
cemeteries had no provision for water which
was necessary to plant trees, grass, and so
on. But the record will indicate that annually,
just before Memorial Day, they had a general
cleaning up—the weeds were taken out,

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181

raked up so that it had a nice appearance;
and if there were any stones tipped, they were
taken care of. Later, in some areas, they did
get water. They developed water, maybe not
too much, and the first thing they did was to
plant some trees around the area—no grass.
Still later, in the larger villages and towns,
grass was grown on some of the plots and
maintained by the living relatives. But that’s
where they were able to get a little water by
pumps, or something like that.

Still larger cemeteries provided a sexton to
open and close the grave. Besides opening and
closing the grave, he would irrigate the lawns,
clip them, and he was paid by the families
for that care. Now, the unfortunate part of it
was that, except in a few cases, your sexton
was the man who wasn’t busy but looking for
another job. So you always had the problem of
finding somebody to open and close graves.
For instance, in Virginia City, we sometimes
go to Carson City, and sometimes as far away
as Gardnerville or Genoa, to get somebody to
go up there and open those graves and blast
the rock.

Then there was another move on. When
the cemetery was large enough so that you
could have a sexton practically full time,
he would do the irrigating, keep the lawns
irrigated, or, rather, clipped, and keep the
weeds out. He lived right near the cemetery.
He could collect a fee by that. Later, as the
cemetery grew, the city or the division or the
church, or whoever may do it, was able to pay
a man to do those particular things.

But the interesting part of it is that in some
of the areas of this state, those sextons were
imbued with the idea of keeping some sort of
a record. It is interesting to go back over some
of those records. They realized that they were
doing their darndest, but they didn’t realize
what the future would be. For instance, if you
have a cemetery and it was plotted, and the

lots were numbered, as many of them were,
the number[s] of graves in the plot were
usually lettered as you faced the west, going on
the east side, with one beginning on the south
side, one through five going north. Then the
upper part of that would begin with six and
go back to ten. The idea was to write the name
of the deceased, and such things as that, and
the grave in which he was buried. But some
of these early sextons interpreted that wrong
(and, of course, they weren’t checked too
closely), and the first one to be buried there,
he’d write it up as number one. Then the next
one, he would mark number two. But they
might be buried in different graves. I had the
experience of identifying a lot of graves. After
I first entered the business (I had the time), I
provided a bar, and I obtained the cooperation
of the sexton. We located the occupied graves,
and then we got the fatly to tell us where they
might be and corrected the errors.

Now, that brings us through the annual
care. It wasn’t ideal because some fellow
would have a problem over here to be taken
care of, and the people around him wouldn’t
do anything about it. And out of that grew
the idea of “perpetual care,” which has now
been changed by law to “endowment care.”
We find at the present time that there are
cemeteries owned by the city or county or
fraternal organizations which are operating
under endowed care. And those cemeteries
are in Las Vegas, Elko, Ely, Hawthorne,
Gardnerville, Reno. Well, in Reno we have,
of course, Mountain View cemetery and the
Catholic cemetery, the K of P, and the Jewish.
All of those are under care. In Mountain View
and the Masonic and in the K of P and the
Jewish, they will not sell you a grave without
you providing the perpetual care for it. Of
course, in the K of P and in the Jewish, there
were a lot of graves for the old-timers (all of
’em are gone) buried in these cemeteries. The

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Silas E. Ross

Masonic cemetery was the first to do that.
Instead of setting aside the one dollar per
square foot, which would be forty dollars,
they’d put fifty in the endowed care fund.
They built the fund up so that they had the
money invested for every occupied grave in
the cemeteries.

Now, along that line, as long as we’re at
that particular subject, here’s the research
that I did in 1961,1 think. I happened to find
these old regulations of the Masonic and
Odd Fellows cemetery that were adopted in
the first cemetery that they had in Reno—I
mean, the mutual cemetery.* Those rules and
regulations applied to the Masonic and I. 0.
0. F. cemetery.

In the earliest days, the Masons
and Odd Fellows worked hand in
hand in fraternal fellow ship in
Nevada. An act to incorporate the
Grand Lodge of Free and Accepted
Masons and the Grand Lodge of the
Independent Order of Odd Fellows
and their subordinate lodges in the
state, pro viding penalty for violation
thereof and other matters thereto,
was passed by the Nevada legislature
and approved March third, 1865. The
records show that wherever a lodge
of Masons was chartered in a Nevada
community, an. Odd Fellows lodge
was also chartered. Immediately after
these lodges....

I want to call your attention to some little
highlights in there (that was the first location
of the first cemetery, in the old brickyard), and
when they moved, and the conditions under
which they moved.

In those days, the cemetery was on just
the west outskirts of Reno. The lodge acquired
the first of that land in 1871. Sanders laid out

the Hillside cemetery in 1870. Now, when
the Odd Fellows and Masons established this
ground, the first thing they did was to disinter
bodies of Masons and Odd Fellows from the
Hillside and interred them up in the new
cemetery. Then when the Catholic cemetery
was founded, St. Thomas (that’s the one on
North Virginia Street, the old St. Thomas), the
Catholic people were moved out of Hillside
up there.

And speaking of Hillside in Reno, it
was laid out by Mr. Sanders, who was a
cabinetmaker and also quite a. businessman
and was also the funeral director—I mean,
the one that started our business. He sold a
piece off to the Knights of Pythias, another
piece off to the Jewish people, and another
piece for the GAR, and gave direct deeds for
these. But the deeds in the other portion, in
the public, were all conditional deeds. The
condition was this: [the cemetery was] to be
used for burial purposes, but if the bodies
were ever removed, or anything like that, the
land reverted to himself, his heirs, or assigns.
These were all conditional deeds.

Now, it might be well to insert something
about the early development of medical
practice here, because you can go back to
New England on this to some extent, and
their difficulties, and to show the development
of the medical practice and the state boards.
Nevada population was small in the early
period, no large cities-.-small villages and
hamlets separated by long distances, and
poor transportation and communication, no
laws governing the practice of medicine. The
records indicate that some men with a little
medical training were in this area, but none

*Copy in Special Collections
department, University of Nevada, Reno,
Library

A Career in Funeral Practice

183

particularly fitted or anxious to find or make
permanent locations to practice medicine. (By
the way I have a paper partially finished on
that, on the highlights of practices by these
people.)

After the Civil War, more qualified men
came into the area, and in 1872, the first
attempt to organize the qualified medical
practitioners was made. A meeting was held in
Pioche, Lincoln County. Doctors from Eureka,
Austin, and Pioche attended. However, no
progress was made at the original attempt
because of the poor modes of travel, long
distances, and so forth. That was the period
that they called the “saddlebag days” because
the transportation was by foot, horseback, or
horse and cart. Now, in the highlights of that
(first meeting], I’ve shown that Dr. Henry
Bergstein was the one that called [it]. He was
living in Pioche and practicing there. When
they came to this decision, they said that
they should try to organize the state board of
health, and so on, in order to encourage better
medical practice and to be in a position to
help their community. But when they finally
decided that it would be practically impossible
to maintain the thing, they did decide that
some of them should try to get elected to
the legislature, and there introduce a bill to
make provision for a state board of health.
Dr. Bergstein was elected and sent up from
Lincoln County.

This is 1875. They introduced a bill. The
bill was passed and signed by the governor,
showing the conditions and so forth. In 1875
(that was ’72 to begin with, ’75 when they
passed), the Nevada state board of health was
organized in Virginia City. I call this period
in medicine the “brave and earnest effort
period”; it lasted to the late ’90s.

Now, in 1885, Dr. George H. Thoma of
Eureka, who was at this particular meeting,
was elected as senator from Eureka County.

He introduced a bill in the senate which
strengthened the law of 1875. That went along,
but in 1887, the first law or act governing vital
statistics was passed by the Nevada legislature.
It required the filing of the death and birth
certificates with the county recorder, and so
on. But as a sidelight on that, the doctors only
had to submit these once a month. They were
recorded by the county recorder. It was not
sufficient. Later, the cities adopted rules and
regulations about this. Then later the state
board took the thing over.

But that accounts for some of the
discrepancies in families. For instance, my
sister was born in 1872, I think, along in
there. Anyhow, she had a birth certificate. My
brother was two years later, and he didn’t have
any. It went on that way. Now, I was born in
<87, and I had no certificate; neither did my
wife. But my younger sister and brother did.
So we got my mother and Mrs. Ross’ mother
to make affidavits of our births to the bureau
of vital statistics in Nevada.

In 1893, the law creating the state board
of health was amended to define more
explicitly the duties and powers of the
state board. Some of the doctors residing
in Virginia City belonged to the national
association of the AMA. They elected Dr.
Bergstein to represent them in the AMA.
In ’99, there was further legislation passed,
creating the board of medical examiners,
and it called for five members and defined
the qualifications to serve. Now, you can see
how they’re progressing in there. In 1911, the
vital statistics department became a part of
the state board of health.

Now, to give you our problem: When I
came into the business in 1914,133, when we
got certificates signed, we had to have three
certificates signed by the doctors—one for the
city of Sparks, one for the city of Reno, and
one for the county health officer. When I was

184

Silas E. Ross

on the council, we advocated the combination
of these be signed by one person so that the
Washoe County health office would be a
clearance for both cities and the county

Learning and Then Operating
the Funeral Business

In my own experience, I’ve gone from the
horse-drawn, through the automobile hearse,
through the end loader, and then through end
or side loader (vehicles).

I’ll never forget when I attended a
meeting in Colorado Springs and a man from
Baltimore had charge of a discussion group.
The discussion was [about] a two-way hearse.
That’s when it first came out. That meant you
could load and unload through the end, or
if it was difficult, from the side. Finally, one
fellow got up and asked, “What do you mean
by a two-way hearse?”

This man stuttered; he said, “Well, you
surprised me. Th—tha—.” He says, “That
means in and out.”

Then I’ve gone from the old combination
flower rack, flat, to carry flowers, through the
arch rack on the side, and to nothing now
above the casket, also the separation in the
auto of the compartment for the driver and
anybody else and the body. To begin with, it
was just a part of that one whole. I have seen
color come into this, from black and gray up
to different colors and different combinations.
Some of them are unusual, but it’s the identity.
Then I have gone through this: that even the
cars—the idea was developed that you should
have gray family cars if you’re using the gray
hearse, and all black family cars if you’re going
to use the black hearse. I even saw a change
in the horse-drawn affair. To begin with, you
used to have white horses for the white hearse,
gray horses for the gray hearse, and black
horses for the black hearse. At a later time

the livery stables became careless and they
would put out a mixed span of horses—one
might be black and the other one gray. This
was the time of the entry of auto livery. But if
you notice that picture closely, you’ll notice
those horses are pretty well matched.

Well, now, in the cemetery equipment,
I’ve seen them go from no lowering device,
no grave lining, and only a large sheet, kind of
a white thing, canvas, to put over the mound.

This may seem like a repetition, but I
want to give you a little of the background
that convinced me probably I would never
go in the funeral business. Mother and Mrs.
Kinney, our neighbor, were always called on
for assistance in childbirth or death of a lady
in the valley, also, if there was any serious
illness. When I was large enough, I used to
drive the cart to take them to the home when
they laid out the body, then drive them down
when they were ready to dress it.

When they laid the body out, with the
undertaker’s assistant, they took a door off
the hinges and got a sawhorse—it was kind
of high—and a chair over here Eat the other
end], and laid the door on that, and laid the
body on top of the door [with a block to hold
the head). They then washed and posed the
body as best they could and tied it to the
door so it wouldn’t slip off (that’s after the
bathing), and then they saturated the face and
hands and arms and breasts in a solution to
stop desiccation, and they closed the mouth
by tying a dishtowel or a towel [dampened
with a salt petre solution] around the chin
and tying it up here on top. They closed the
eyes and put a coin on them, and crossed the
hands like this ([one over the other above the
wrist]; they didn’t even flex them), and tied
them There, [and sometimes would relieve
the gas that might be in the abdomen]. The
ladies would replenish the solution from time
to time. The undertaker would measure the

A Career in Funeral Practice

185

body and go to town and get the casket. They
would be down at a certain time, so wed take
Mother and Mrs. Kinney down there again
[to dress the body and place it in the casket].

The one in particular that I’m going to cite
was a Mrs. Miller that lived about one and a
half to two miles east of us, when she died. I
drove them down and I was in the house when
they moved the body. And the aroma was
terrible! It was nauseating to me. As a matter
of fact, I couldn’t eat my meal. But on the way
back, Mother said to Mrs. Kinney, “Mary, first
chance I get on a Saturday that I can go to
town with Orrin, I’m going to Levy, and I’m
going to buy a certain amount of cloth. And
I’m going to make my undergarments and
dress for burial. And I’m going to put it in the
bottom of the bureau drawer.”

And Mrs. Kinney said to her, “You going
to put lace on the panties and underskirt?”

And Mother said, “I certainly am, because
<ol St. Peter’ll look like all the rest of the men! ”

Then Mary said, “Nellie, what made you
[began to laugh] — when’d you think of that?”

“Well,” Mother said, “you know what
happened today, and I got to thinking that
thing over. When I put on that shroud—,”
and she described it, the front long, and long
sleeves and lace over here and here, and then
came around, and here (on the neck), they had
a doodly-toot sort of a collar to hold it up and
a string to pull it together, you see. They would
tie it around the back. Then when it came to
the underskirt and bottom thing, they took a
sheet, and they wrapped it around the lower
end in back, and tucked it and tied it together.

Mrs. Kinney said, “Well, what made you
think of this?”

“Well,” she said, “Mary, I got to thinking
about this thing. I know when we die we go
to Heaven, and St. Peter is going to meet us
at the gate. And, of course, he’d know who
we are, but we have to announce ourselves.

And he’ll ask us a few questions, and he’ll see
the front of me, and I’ll look as though I’m
properly dressed and everything like that.
And I’ve been wondering what he’d say if he
let me in, when he looked at my back—no,
looked at—.”

Mary said, “What?”

“Well,” she says, “my bare behind stickin’
out!” [laughing] But Mother did do that.

Well, of course, that experience was bad
for me. Then that was quite early, but about
a year after the Spanish-American War, my
brother was injured on the railroad and died
as a result of it. They had the funeral. I’ve got a
clipping on that. The service was at the ranch,
and they had the number of vehicles out there
and so on, and they had the Baptist minister—
it was Hudleson. We got out to the cemetery,
they had a few chairs there, and Father sat
here, and on his left, Mother, and then my
sister over here on her right, and I sat next to
him. My brothers and sisters were all there.
I noticed Father. He, during the committal
service, paid strict attention, and all at once,
he began to look in the grave. I couldn’t
figure why he was doing that at a sacred time
like this. So on the way home, I asked him
something about it. “Well,” he said, “I didn’t
like the ground, son.” Then he said, “Nellie, I
looked at that ground. It had a lot of hardpan
thrown out, and I looked down in the grave,
and they had clay and then hardpan, quite a
strip of it, and the bottom of it was hardpan.”

Now, in those days, they lowered with
straps, and the only other thing they did was
try to cover up the mound with a linen cloth.
But it was exposed. And he said to her, “On
Saturday, when I go up to Reno, I’m going up
to the cemetery and see if I can’t find a piece
of ground where there’s sand.” He said, “I
know that if they’d dug deep enough, they’d’ve
gone through that hardpan.” (But as it was,
if moisture ever got down there, it would

186

Silas E. Ross

stand.) “I’m going to look and see if I can’t
find a sandy spot.”

So he went to the sexton. The sexton said,
“Orrin, I don’t know of any ground here that
has sand, because all of these interments are
along this particular line, and we always run
into this hardpan.”

He went over on the other side in the
public section, right next to the odd Fellows,
and got ahold of the sexton, whose name was
Ben Peck, and asked him if he had any sandy
ground available for burial. Peck showed him
around and said, “Here’s a nice piece in here.
It’s all sand,” and so on.

Father looked it over and asked, “How
much is this plot?” The man gave him a
price—I think it’s a hundred dollars. So Father
said, “I’ll take it under one condition. Friday,
I want you to dig a hole six feet deep. And I
want it sloped out. Friday, I want that done,
and Friday night, before you leave, I want you
to fill it with water. And I’ll be up Saturday
just as soon as I get my business transacted
and look at it.”

I was with him, and we went up, and you
could see it was all drained away, of course.
The sand on each side showed the moisture.
Father said, “I’ll take it,” and he had my
brother moved.

Well, as a kid, that bothered me. There was
no finesse or anything like that to it at all. The
only comfort you could get out of it would be
your minister, but if you were the same type as
my dad and mother, you’d think about these
other things. To me, it was cold—no comfort
at all. Now, that was in 1901.

The next one was, oh, in September, 1901.
I had a very close friend that I made when I
came from country schools. His name was
Orrel Wheeler. He asked me if I wouldn’t
(his parents had given him a shotgun)
stay overnight Friday with him and go out
hunting. And I told him I’d have to ask my

parents, and I did, and they said, “No, you’ve
got your work to do here on Saturday, and
we don’t want you foolin’ around with a gun.”

There was a side issue to this, and that was
this: my older brothers had a gun, and they
went out hunting one day, and another boy
was with them. In crawling through a fence,
the gun went off and shot the boy in here tin
the jaw]. It didn’t kill him or anything like
that, but a suit was brought for damages, and
it broke Father, practically. That’s what made
Mother (dislike lawyers].

Well, anyhow, Orrel went up alone. He
was hunting in the cemetery. But the doves
kept flying as he moved around, and they
went over the fence on the west side into that
field, and there they landed. So he started over
there, and as he went through the fence, this
gun went off and killed him. I was a pallbearer.
There again, of course, I couldn’t reconcile my
brother’s death. See, he was just a young man,
a young fellow; now, here’s Orrel, a couple
years older than I, taken.

Then shortly after that, a neighbor of
ours had quite a large family, and he went
out to hitch up the hay wagon, and the little
kids followed him out. He hitched up the hay
wagon and looked around, and the children,
he thought, had left and gone. And he backed
up and the little girl was in back of the wagon.
He ran over her and she died. I was asked to
be a pallbearer there. Now, in this particular
case, they didn’t even have lowering straps,
but the graves in both Irvin’s case and in Orrel
Wheeler’s case didn’t have any decoration or
anything like that, no lowering device (they
used straps), no grave liner, or anything like
that. They did have a kind of a white cloth
over the mound, but the dirt, and the like
of that—and there was just a few chairs. But
here, they had to hold that team. They took
the lines off and lowered with those straps.
The preparation wasn’t complete.

A Career in Funeral Practice

187

Now, in having three experiences, I
naturally wondered, why so young? Why
taken so young? Then the next thing that came
into my mind—why have a memory picture
that was so bleak? It seemed to me that there
was no comfort, no refinement in it at all, and
the only satisfaction you could get would be
the words of the minister as he read scripture
and offered prayers and read a benediction.
But this other gruesome thing was the thing
you observed first. The questions— why, why,
why? In other words, they get afraid of death.
And to go into the funeral business and do
things like that would just break my heart.

Well, now, than, in 1906, one of the
boys in Lincoln Hall died, and the body
was prepared here and sent to Genoa for
interment. Somebody got the idea that he was
a cadet and that the cadets ought to turn out.
So it was arranged that we would pick up the
body at the mortuary, and they had twelve
men assigned as carriers. They’d carry, six of
them, just so long, and then they’d change
hands and the others would rest. Then they
had the cadet battalion as an escort with their
guns. We marched from the mortuary, which
was on Sierra, down to Second, Second to
Center, Center to Commercial Row, and then
to the baggage room. Of course, there was
no hearse. Then we got there, we carried it to
the shipping box, and it was lowered in there
with straps (it was difficult at its best, but it
seemed to be more handy), and from there,
[shipped] to Genoa. We got to Genoa, and
they had the same kind of cemetery setup and
body carrying at the cemetery. I happened to
be one of the twelve that was assigned to this
carrier. That takes me back to ancient funeral
customs from New England—carrying the
body. He was just a young man; I think he
was in his junior year.

By 1908, then, a young lady whose father
and mother lived in Lincoln Hall died. Mr.

Brown was superintendent of buildings and
grounds and master of Lincoln Hall. The
daughter was only twenty years old.

I had been a Mason a few months in
1908, but I was on the relief committee, and
I had learned a lot about a Mason’s duty
to sojourners and their families and knew
something about the detail. I was able to help
this family by talking with them [and was able
to do some things for them]. Mr. and Mrs.
Brown belonged to the Knights of Pythias
and the Pythian Sisters, and [I took it upon
myself to] notify them of the death, and got
a list of the pallbearers and notified those, so
they didn’t have any responsibility there at all.
I know us pallbearers took up a collection to
get the pallbearer hack to go out there.

Now, when we got to the cemetery, there
was more refinement than we’d had in quite
a long time. We did have a mound cloth, the
grave was lined, chairs were there for the
family, and it was on a beautiful side hill.
When we were all dismissed, we had that
particular picture—the flowers around the
grave, which was lovely. But the view from
there to the west and south was not inspiring
or restful for the reason that they had an area
in there of unimproved graves, and the weeds
and the like of that had started growing up.
Then beyond that, they had horses and mules
and a sort of a junk yard, and farther up they
had a pasture. In that pasture was a big hole
where they were digging out sand and the
like of that. That in itself was not good. But
we could look more to the south, and now
I could see the Sierras and Mt. Rose. It was
quite comforting. So it showed a definite
improvement.

Now, as time went on, I had more
opportunity to do things in connection with
my responsibility of being one of the relief
committee of the lodge to be able to help
families. That isn’t work. The pleasant duty

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that I had as a member of that committee,
to be able to help people, brought me pretty
close to it.

My first real interest in the funeral
business was developed there because I
observed the difference in the appearance of
bodies that came from one place and another.
I became interested, then, in the chemical
side of it. I watched it, and I finally made the
statement that I believed that you could take
two bodies, have one prepared by one firm
and the other (by another firm], lay them side
by side and call me, and I could tell you which
firm prepared the body.

Then I found out that one of the perplexing
things for a family, in shipment, was the
uncertainty as to where the transfers would
be made en route, particularly across the
country, and what they had to do, and so
forth—to clarify their minds on this. That was
one of the things that appealed to me more
than anything else, that I could do these things
here, locally. But unless they knew (the route],
they would have anxiety clear across the way.
“Can’t you do something? Can’t something
be done?”

I just worked on it for quite a while. But I
worked on it from the Masonic point of view.
We were able to arrange to notify the Masons,
wherever there was a stop or a transfer, to be
there. But that was about it.

Now, both [Reno] firms seemed to take an
interest in me because of my interest in what
was going on. I was asked to join both firms.
But one in particular was like this—and that
was in 1914 when they came to a head. We
talked it over, and they offered me an awfully
good proposition. But after talking it over,
I had planned, under my agreement with
Dr. Stubbs, to go that summer to graduate
school in preparation for getting a master’s
and eventually a Ph.D. degree and continuing
teaching. So I turned the offer down, and I

went to Wisconsin and did my summer work
and came back. Dr. Stubbs had died and there
were some unpleasantries and conditions
that we don’t need to quote now, but I went
to the head of the department and said if
they couldn’t live up to the oral agreement
that I had with Dr. Stubbs, I was leaving
and I wanted to notify them. I would stay
long enough to help them ’til they could get
somebody else. They didn’t do it, so I tendered
my resignation.

I took up insurance. I had been selling
insurance on the side part time to supplement
my income to support the family. The
opportunity came again, and, of course, in
the first place, Emily and I had talked it over,
and she said, “You do whatever you want to
do, and I’m for you and with you. But it seems
to me that you love teaching. You have a good
setup here, and as long as you behave yourself,
you can make a living and have the privilege
of helping kids, and that position is fairly well
guaranteed.” When this second chance came
up, why, we made up our minds we were going
in the funeral business.

And when it was announced, dear old
Dr. Church, who’d gone to Dr. Stubbs when I
received my appointment to the faculty, told
him, “Dr. Stubbs, you’re making a mistake.”
He didn’t question my ability or anything like
that, but he thought inbreeding was bad, that
they should get somebody from the outside.

And Dr. Stubbs told him, “I think I know
what I’m doing.”

But when I went into the funeral business,
Dr. Church came to me and said, “Silas, you
should be ashamed of yourself! To do a thing
like this! See what you’re going into? See the
pleasant life you could have up here?” and
so forth.

And I said, “Yes. But I think, doctor, I can
do more people more good in times of unusual
stress than I can do in just teaching. You have

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189

said that I’ve made a success of teaching and
done a lot of good for people, for youth. But
here, I can meet the families in distress and
maybe do things that’ll be helpful.”

He said, “I think you’ve made a mistake.”

Anyhow, when Mrs. Church died, he
called me and told me what he wanted, and I
carried out everything in detail. He wanted it
here, and he wanted it taken care of at home,
wanted it laid out on the bed, clothed, right on
the bed—and there was a family service right
there—and then taken out and cremated. He
wanted the cremains returned, but he wanted
a certain type of urn, and so on. So I told him
that I could do this, and I’d do what I could
to help him.

The particular thing that he was interested
in was to know where he could get a certain
type of urn. And I said to him, “Doctor, I’m
sending you to the foremost cremationist in
the world. And he’s very artistic. He loves
old things, and he may have the type of urn
that you’re talking about, but if he can’t, he’ll
know how to get it. And all you have to do is
to look over what he has. And if he doesn’t
have what you desire, draw up or give him a
word picture, and he’ll get it.”

So when Dr. Church returned from the
cremation, he came in to see me. Larry Moore
had called me. He said, “I found just what he
wanted.” He wanted this fixed in a certain way.
He wanted the remains put in a bag—that is,
a good substantial one, with the top pulled
together with a string. On the top of the urn
he wanted a little hook—that is, on the inside,
so that he could hook this [bag of J ashes on
that and put the urn in, and it would help
keep the urn closed, and at the same time,
keep everything together.

But when he came back, he came down
and he said, “I said two unkind things about
you. One, I objected to your appointment, not
because of you, but because it was inbreeding.

But you made good. Then I chastised you
and said you should be ashamed of yourself,
and so forth, and you answered me.” He said,
“I’ve had this experience, and you’ve made a
pleasant memory picture. Thank God for the
change.”

Now, when I started out in the business,
it was understood that I would do apprentice
work to become a licensed embalmer, because
I said to them, “If I go in here, I want to know
everything from the bottom up. I want to
know what’s required of me, I want to be an
embalmer, and I want to handle people— this
law is all in the books. And if you’re keeping
accounts, I want to look those over and do
research work, and such things as that, in my
odd time.”

He said, “Yes.”

And I guess I’ve always had a curious mind.
But maybe I’m an idealist and perfectionist; I
don’t know. I figured that I had a business here
and was operating in Reno, Nevada, and they
were surely my people. And it was up to me
to familiarize myself with every angle of this
business to be qualified to do it.

Now, I looked over the law, and I looked
carefully, and I said, “Well, I can qualify, I’m
sure, with everything. But I’m not so sure of
my biology and anatomy because I just had a
little skirting of it.” So I went to two doctors;
one was a pathologist and the other was a
surgeon. The surgeon taught me anatomy; the
other one taught me biology and pathology.
And I boned! I wanted to. I did my apprentice
work under Mr. John Joseph Burke.

When I went down to take this
examination, there were three of us taking
it—one from Ely, one from Las Vegas, and
I. We went to Tonopah. We went in, we sat
down, they gave us our papers, and we started
to work. It was the essay type of examination.
I think we started around eight-thirty,
nine o’clock. I had it finished at quarter to

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eleven. I checked and rechecked. But it was
disappointing to me because they didn’t ask
me anything about real anatomy, or biological
science, or comparative anatomy, and such
things as that. But anyhow, a little bit before
twelve, they recessed the meeting, took up
the papers of the other two people, and we
went to lunch.

During lunch, it was decided that the
other two would go back and continue the
examination, and Mr. J. L. Keyser would give
me an oral examination on a mannequin.
And Mr. Keyser, God bless him, he was
interested. He was one of the fellows that
created the state board and everything like
that, and served from the beginning until
I succeeded him after he resigned. But he
would go away and attend these two weeks’,
three weeks’ schools in mortuary science.
And I want to tell you, he put me through an
examination! Finally, he said to me, “Do you
do the autopsies?”

I said, “No, sir. I assist the pathologist.”

“Well,” he said, “why don’t you do this
thing?”

I said, “I’m not qualified to do it.

I’m not licensed to do it.”

He said, “You could do it, couldn’t you?”

I said, “I think I could, under the direction
of a pathologist.” I was very careful not to say,
“Yeh, I can do it,” because the law wouldn’t
permit me to do it.

But anyhow, these other fellows worked
until—one handed in his paper at four-thirty,
and they took up the other paper at five and
excused us. They corrected the papers, and the
next day we came on our way. On the way back
I was sitting with Mr. Keyser and Mr. George
E. Kitzmeyer. The other member, being from
the south, he wasn’t there. I said, “When will
I know if I passed the examination?”

They looked at each other and said, “Well,
right now. You passed it.”

Then I said, “Will I have the opportunity
to look over this examination paper to see
wherein I failed so that I can brush up on it?”

They looked at each other rather funny,
and I thought, “Well, now—now it’s coming.”

They said, “Sure, but you won’t have to do
that.” Says, “You missed one question.”

I said, “Can I look at that?”

They said, “We’ll tell you. The question
was this: If you were sewing up the body after
an autopsy, and you had pricked your finger
’til it bled, what’s the first thing you’d do?”

Well, the first thing, I’d said, you’d do
would be to suck it. I said, “Suck the prick.”
[Laughing] They—they had just laughed their
heads off. “That’s the first thing you do?”
lb elaboration. I asked them more politely,
saying, “Suck the injured part,” and so forth.
They accepted it.

I’ve looked back over that paper (they
have to keep those papers) many times.
Well, the fact that I made good and I had this
information and the other fellows had such a
tough time rather inspired me to say, “What
can I do now to increase the background of
these people so that I could help to elevate
this business?” That’s when I got really started
in [on the] educational side of the business.

I became curious in working on the
books. I’d worked things out with changes
and such things as that, and I thought I could
justify anything that I did. But I’d always ask
the salesmen, “What do they do other places?”
And, “How do they do this?” About all they
could tell me was they’d charge you so much
for that kind of a casket, so much for this.

And I said, “how do they arrive at these
conclusions?”

“Well,” they said, “casket houses tell you
how they got the markup.”

I said, “Is it honest?”

Those inequities didn’t impress me at all,
so I began to graph our business. I grouped

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191

the thing on, say, indigent and semi-indigent,
and under a hundred dollars. And then,
between a hundred and two hundred, and two
hundred and three hundred, and on up the
line, and kept track of the volume of business
we had in these different brackets and then
determined where the median was, and there
I could get percentages. I found, also, I studied
up top, here, we weren’t selling in some of
these brackets because they were too high
priced. Not only that, we were making too
much money off of those people, and due to
the fact that there were only a few of those,
we were loading somebody else down here.

So with the indigent and the semi-
indigent, and such classes as that, I set this
group aside by themselves, and I worked
the schedule out over here. From there, I
had the cost of operation and I had the cost
of merchandise. We had the operation (it’d
cost us so much in a year), and so much
merchandise and so much salaries over
here. Now, we couldn’t expect the indigent
and the semi-indigent (not welfare then)
and fraternal stuff—you couldn’t put in a
service charge there. So I just put this over
here, and all I charged against that account
was the fluids used, the chemicals, and such
things as that, and the merchandise. No
service charge. Now, at the end of the year
I had so much over here and so much here.
This month that we had over here was really,
really a profit. So I deducted that from the
total expense—you’ll find it over there—and
then I would divide and see what I had to
do. Then I began to group them differently.
I had it all graphed.

So I talked to people, and I didn’t get very
tar, but I did show them some of my graphs.
Then the next thing that I did, I talked to the
partners. I said, “Now, I notice that there’s a
certain class of people that come to us, and
in reading the papers, we don’t get many in

some areas, and in other areas, we get a lot.
Why? How’re we going to find out?”

Well, the old idea is that they’re buying
their way, and all this, and that didn’t appeal
to me at all. I said, “There’s one or two things
we could improve on in my judgment. One is
that we are not expanding ourselves enough
socially, and the other is that possibly, these
other people are giving a better service and
they’re going there. Let’s find that out.” I did.

But I got out into the area, I got a friend of
mine and told him, “I know this thing. Now,
why? Is it because we’re not known, or is it
because we have poor service?”

Well, we finally got that straightened out,
and when I went in that business, we were
doing less than fifty percent of the total. The
first year we made a gain, and we gained right
along. When Mr. Burke died, I thought we’d
lose all the Catholic business. But the old
families stayed with us and we gained. Then
I thought maybe there’s some way that we can
get a census taken of the people we’ve served
coming from the outside. I’ll tell about some
of those services, both local and outside, and
the equipment we used.

How many times in those early days,
particularly in the wintertime, if we used
horse-drawn equipment on wheels, we could
only go a certain distance and then we would
have to leave our wheels behind and hire
a sled and hitch our horses and a sleigh to
take it to its destination! Many times in the
particular area, they weren’t able to use the
rolling equipment, and they used sleds and
sleighs, and then the families rode in their
own vehicles, like buggies, buckboards, and
so on. In the early days, also, it was quite the
common thing for the funeral director to
lead the procession with the horse and buggy.
They took the minister with them and led the
procession until we’d get to the cemetery. This
horse and buggy would then speed up and

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move on to the grave site and be prepared to
receive the cortege.

Now, another thing that we had to
sometimes use were the stages from towns on
the main roads into the rural areas because
our horse-drawn equipment was not strong
enough or equipped well enough to go over
the rugged roads and so on. Another thing
that we used to have to do many times, when
the death was in a rugged area, a long distance
from any good highway, and in precipitous
areas, we had to resort to a saddle horse and
pack horses in order to bring the bodies out.

Now, motor equipment came in in the
middle 1900’s. I think somewhere else I
said the first motor hearse was purchased
by Grosbeck and O’Brien. It was a modern
type with glass sides and ends, and in this
particular vehicle, there was a compartment
for the driver and maybe the head funeral
director. It was covered. We continued with
the livery and tried to influence the stables to
put in motor equipment. They considered it
an& decided not to spend that money. So Mr.
George Kitzmeyer of Carson and our firm in
Reno purchased the two Sayers and Scoville
hearses which I have described elsewhere.
Ours were the hand-carved type with a flower
rack above the casket, a real necessity of the
casket space to carry flowers. One of us took
gray and the other one took black. We had
the gray. And this we used for quite a while,
but we were somewhat handicapped for the
reason that we had to use the livery stable
equipment for the fatly and pallbearers.
They used to call the carryalls for the family
“hacks,” and they would only hold six people.
They’d enter from the same compartment but
sat facing each other, three on each side. Then
the pallbearer’s car was arranged with seats,
but they had sides on it, and the like of that,
to protect it—that’s the kind that you’d fold
up and down.

Well, the next thing that we did in order
to get motor equipment for the families, we
were able to rent large cars from the taxis
or from individuals who might have a large
car in which the family could ride. Still later,
we purchased our own limousines. During
the war, when we were limited on gas, the
limousine proposition went out and families
furnished their own cars. We didn’t use
our cars at all, excepting in an emergency.
Now, it’s come to the point where every firm
furnishes at least two limousines on every
funeral besides the coach. I think I have
covered this elsewhere, but I’ll repeat it. Many
times, in transporting the bodies within the
state, a terminal would be a long way from
the destination. That’s when we would have
to use stage equipment. And if we went into
the back country, sometimes a stage was the
only one equipped to get through to a certain
destination. Here’s an illustration. When you
get out to Battle Mountain, you had that long
distance to cover other than by rail. And if
you were going to Eureka, you’d go as far as
Palisade and have to find your way to Eureka
by stage. Or in Elko, [if] you’d want to get up
to Tuscarora, you would have other means
than by rail.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned anything
about air. At the present time, air is used a
great deal in the transportation of bodies,
either private planes or the regular lines.
I don’t know whether I mentioned before
about the main saving of time and how we
would have airplanes (called air freight) large
enough to take a casket. They only stopped in
certain urban areas, and you’d have to make
other connections because the planes there
were too small and we’d have to have a funeral
director at the final destination come down
and get the body. But we found that we’d ship
a body by air from here to Washington, D. C.,
Boston, New York, and other distant points

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193

for very much less than you could ship a body
by train. When you ship a body by train, there
were two areas in which you could operate.
One would be baggage and the other, express.
If the body went by baggage, it had to have
an escort. The cost would be a fare for each.
If it went by express, it would be two fares. I
could never reconcile the fact that one would
charge two fares and the other one one fare,
and wrote a brief on it and presented it at one
of our state meetings at which men from other
states came in, and they thought the brief was
timely. Of course, I thought it was tight. So
the express companies came back and they
said this, “If you want to ship it by express as
such, instead of two fares, we’ll charge you so
much per hundred pounds.” And we figured
that out, and it cost us much more than two
fares. So we had to give that up.

Now, in those days, the escort had to
accompany the body and ride on the same
train as the body. But recently, that has
been changed because many of the express
and baggage trains do not have passenger
accommodations. We could ship it by train
and they’d make the regular baggage shifts,
and the body and the escort didn’t arrive
at the same time. Then that happened, we
would always consign the body to the funeral
director and have it delivered to him, and
he would show his authorization to the
baggage man in order to claim the body.
Usually, the escort carried the baggage check
that he would take to the baggage room to
claim the body. Today, things have changed
because the railroads don’t cater, unless they
absolutely have to, to transportation of the
body. Air service isn’t always available, but
they do now have a concern called a hearse
service, operating very much like the railroad.
If you want to transfer the body from here
to Los Angeles, you contact the head office
and they’ll arrange to pick the body up here

in Reno and take the shortest route to Los
Angeles. And there, they deliver the body and
then pick up other bodies from there and go
back up the coast, say, to San Francisco.

Helicopters have saved us a lot today,
because many times, there are deaths in
inaccessible places in the rugged area, some
of them that you can’t even reach with these
Jeeps. Of course, we used to use saddle
horses and pack horses to bring dead bodies
out. Now, the helicopter can go out and
pick them up and transport them to—well,
the funeral director in Reno or the closest
funeral director. I think I mentioned the
fact that this accident up near Genoa Peak,
the question was raised as to whether they
should take the bodies out by helicopter, or
whether they should go in the lake trail and
bring them out that way. And they decided,
of course, on breaking the road through and
taking them out that way, for the reason that
the deaths occurred in Nevada, and all of
the people on the plane were from certain
areas around San Jose, California. The dead
bodies had to be brought out and taken to a
certain place, which was Minden, where all
the physical examinations and identifications
were made and other civil requirements made,
and the bodies prepared for transportation,
the remains were transported, some by plane,
some by auto hearse, and some by train to their
destinations. There was a problem of interstate
law regarding interstate transportation.

I think we can move now to a discussion
of where the services were held. In the early
days in rural areas and some of the smaller
urban areas, there were always large homes.
The bodies would be prepared there. They
would be dressed and casketed there, and a
funeral would be held from the home. But,
of course, each mortuary had a small chapel
to take care of those that didn’t have this
particular accommodation. But after the

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transportation was better, while the bodies
might be prepared in the home and lie in state
there, they would be taken to churches or to
lodge rooms. Then in other cases, they would
be in the small mortuary chapel. Problems
came up finally in the matter of traffic and
also the greater demand for services at the
mortuary by the people who had no particular
church affiliation. Then the parking came into
consideration. Not many of the churches had
parking space, and none of the lodge rooms.
So the mortuaries then enlarged their chapels
to accommodate the group and arrange
parking space so that people could come and
park their cars without interference.

In our own case, we first moved to the
corner of Fourth and Sierra Streets in 1920.
There wasn’t too much traffic and people
parked rather easily. But it finally grew and we
had to make parking provision, we purchased
an adjoining piece of property and turned
that into a parking area.- Later, we purchased
another piece which gave us a hundred feet
on Sierra and a hundred forty feet west. Still
later, we purchased another piece of property
to use as a garage for our cars (the livery
stable and so on having gone out, and the
parking garages so far away from us), and
also, a warehouse for different supplies. Then,
the matter of a freeway came up through
Reno, and the matter on Fourth Street was
discussed, then one across the river, and then
one right down Third Street, and we felt that
if Fourth Street was made a boulevard, we
would immediately have a traffic problem. We
liked the idea of being close to the business
area and on the same side of the tracks as the
cemeteries, so we bought another lot a little
to the north of our property and west, fifty
by a hundred and forty feet, so that we could
turn our processions out of our parking lot
and go through this lot to West Street and
then to Fifth and on out to the cemetery. Still

later, we bought another fifty by a hundred
and forty to take care of the distant parking.

Now, we learned one thing, that if we
directed or parked cars for people, our liability
was greater. Even though we had parking
lines run, and such things as that, we found
that people didn’t use those. They’d just park
anywhere and block us all the time. But rather
than to assume all that liability, we had a man
out there directing the parking. He did not
park the cars.

To give you an illustration, when we first
put in our parking, we had the parking area
graded and rolled, and then we had some
pressed rock put on it and rolled, and then
we had some sand put in, and then we put
on what we called an asphalt skin coat until
the ground would settle. The skin was asphalt
with some sand and fine gravel mix.

We bought more stockings for people!
Some ladies wore open-toed shoes, and the
loose sand and gravel caused holes in the toe
of the stocking. And rather than argue, we’d
replace the stocking. I know in one case a lady
entered one of our cars. She had a party dress
on, an evening dress. While entering the car;
she hooked the dress on something within
the car and tore a section of the dress. She
came and reported the condition to us, and
we immediately referred her to our insurance
agent. He immediately got busy on it. He
asked her if she had the dress, and she said
yes, she had it. He asked to look at it, and he
had it appraised. Now, he was smart. He told
her to go on down and get something like it
and they would pay for it. She went down and
bought a dress about five times what this thing
cost! They finally settled.

Liability [insurance] is a great thing to
have. For instance, if we direct the parking
and somebody was careless in backing out and
bumped into another car, we were liable. So
we get those things all along. In some of the

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195

states—and it’s been tried in this state, too—if
we put cars in the procession, even though
they’re private cars, if anything happens, we
can be enjoined on damages.

Speaking of parking, our sign, “Parking
for Funerals” won a prize. Well, this was an
open space, and a lot of people who worked
would drive down and park on that lot. And
some people would come and park and do
shopping. The result was that we didn’t have
much space, so we decided to put up some
parking signs. We spent quite a bit of time
trying to figure out just what should be put
on the sign. You have a picture of it. We sent
these pictures in for competition and exhibit.
The signs do not say, “No parking”; they don’t
say, “Cars illegally parked will be hauled away,”
or anything like that. It’s set up with a black
background and a white edge, and then gold
lettering, “Private Parking Area. Limited to
friends while attending funeral services.” That
was selected as the best and most significant
sign by the National Selected Morticians. It
was a part of their program to have people
submit something on signs like that and
another one on advertising.

We were celebrating our seventy-fifth
anniversary, I think, and we had these pictures
showing the beginning, of course, with a little
short story of the whole history, and then
pictures of the staff members and a little bit
about their background. It took a full page [in
the newspaper]. I got Tom Wilson of Reno to
help me on that. I furnished the information
and he edited it, and this advertising was also
exhibited. We won a first place on institutional
advertising. It’s around somewhere. I had a lot
of letters on that.

I was never impressed with these great
big signs out in front of your mortuary, or
billboards, or anything like that at all. I didn’t
think billboards were worth a damn. People
are not looking for them anyhow. But these

large conspicuous signs didn’t convey any
message, and that is why we just have this little
neon sign in front, “Ross-Burke Company
Funeral Service.” But we have bracket lights
around the place to light it up.

Speaking of advertising, a lot of the firms
advocated doing something at Christmastime.
And we toyed with it for quite a long time.
And it was about the time that Dr. Moseley
came to the University’. He erected a creche
on the lawn facing Ninth Street and in front
of the tram on the south end of Manzanita
Lake. It was very effective. We placed a
similar creche in front of our chapel. We
were telling the story. We had lights on it.
We had compliments. It created interest and
compliments, but it was not successful. You’d
get up there in the morning, and by golly, all
our [laughing] strings of lights and so forth
were gone. So we then changed it and erected
the creche on the roof of our building. We
again received a lot of compliments. But
that’s a sort of a semi-slate roof. The people
who erected it there and took it down were
breaking the shingles. We gave it to Trinity
Church. The church used it, and they loaned
it, I think, to the Baptist Church, and they
used it for a while. We substituted in front
of our building brackets of red candles with
lights on them. The city adopted this idea
and placed like candles on the bridges and
other conspicuous places in the city. We
discontinued the idea.

We used kneeling pads in our chapel.
When we replaced the pads and substituted
kneelers, we gave the kneeling pads to Trinity
Church to use when they had the overflow
of crowds. The kneeling pads went down the
river during the flood.

We gave up the idea of this form of
advertising because so many people started
to erect creches, and it wasn’t different. I find
that, in the funeral business, conspicuous

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advertising is not too much of an asset. If you
want to say, “Serving the people of Reno and
Washoe County since 1870,” such advertising
will be informative and dignified. Many
funeral (firms] advertise service, service,
service. So I coined the expression, “where
service is more than a mere word.” Those
things were regarded as all right. Well, that’s
enough of that.

A few minutes ago, I was saying that in
the earlier time, the bodies were prepared
and dressed and casketed and everything in
the homes. How much actual preservation
and everything went into that? In the early
days, when Mother—you know, she used to
go out and lay them out. The funeral director
came down—I think I’ve described this to
you before.

When I entered into the business, this
so-called word “embalming” meant body
mutilation on the part of most people. That
was never true. But they had the idea, so I
suggested to our firm not to use the word
“embalming” and say to them, “The body
will have to be sterilized.” Then if you get
an audience that’s right, you could describe
this process to them. That’s what we were
doing. The word “embalming” means to
allay bacterial decomposition, and also
contemplates the removal of blood that’s in
the system, because that’s the first thing to
decompose. When it does, it causes swelling
and purging. The first thing it does is throw the
gas out into the little capillaries, which blocks
the circulation of the disinfectant fluids. It was
at the time that we were having all that trouble
that I conceived the idea of injecting a solution
of Epsom salt before the embalming fluid,
based on the fact that that’s what they used to
give us on the ranch if we were constipated. I
have told about that somewhere else. To this
day, the bodies don’t have to be embalmed.
The health regulation says that they must be

either buried, cremated, or entombed within
a period of eighteen hours, or that has to be
done. It is done as a sanitary requirement.
There’s always the chance, if you don’t allay this
bacteria, there could be infection or contagion
coming from it.

Now, I’d like to add to that just a little
bit. There is a trend among certain people
today to stress memorial services without
the body. For certain organizations, they are
advocating that, and certain churches. Well,
of course, to me, that’s rather cold, because I
can’t help but respect this body. It is the house
that held the soul that I loved. That’s number
one. And number two, my observation is
when death comes to an ordinary individual,
some members of the fatly are there, and you
see that struggle for breath, and such things
as That. They see the expression of pain, of
tiredness, and so on. And that’s the mental
picture you have of death. If they will let us
prepare this body, it is possible for us to allay
that expression, take care of the body and
pose it so that it looks as though it’s in peace.
That leaves a pleasant memory picture for
people. Even in bodies that have been hurt in
an accident, all broken up, some of the family
sees that— not a pleasant memory picture. If
they’d give us a chance, we can usually put
it back together and present a more normal
picture.

The first one that I put back together was
a man, a brakeman, who fell off a train up
near Verdi. He was terribly mangled. I made
the call and brought the remains back to the
mortuary and decided, “I’m going to try to put
this together.” A lot of people saw this body in
Verdi. I worked industriously and long hours,
and I restored the body. I did dermasurgical
work; I was careful with my cosmetics and
my lighting.

And one member of the family that saw
the bodyNorthwest Oral History Association

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197

newsletter reminder in Verdi asked to see
the body after restoration. He’d suggested
maybe the family wouldn’t want the casket for
viewing. He viewed the body and was a most
pleased man. He said he was going to talk
to the family and get them to view the body,
and he was going to get all of these people
together that saw it in Verdi. That was the
biggest piece of advertising that we ever had.
But it takes time to do that. And to me, time
and effort has never meant anything just so
long as I can do something that’s going to be
comforting to people.

Oh, yes. One other thing. There’s one
fellow in this country, and in the last year or
so, [who], rather than have open house for
people for a certain period of time, decided
to put in an area right next to a driveway on
his property so that people could drive up
and look through the window at it all night
long. Such a thing does not appeal to me.
Well, I don’t know. He cot blessed by a lot of
funeral directors, and when I say blessed, it
was in a vulgar way. A good, legitimate funeral
director is a person who thinks in terms of
such privacy as a family would like and such
love and protection and interest that they can
go home and rest and know that body is in
a reposing room, with flowers around it, and
with a staff member present at all times.

I know a funeral director in another state
who closes his mortuary at nine-thirty at
night and does not return until nine-thirty in
the morning. To me, this is rather gruesome.
Suppose a fired break out. Suppose some
vandals would get in. All of these things.
Now, that’s not saying that they would, but
they could.

These people, when I talked to them, said,
“Well, he’s an idealist, he’s a dreamer, but—.”
I had a sign on the mortuary operating door,
calling attention to the fact that these bodies
were to be treated just the same as they’d

want one of theirs treated. It’s not open for
the curious or people that are unauthorized
to come in to watch it or anything like that
at all. And it’s to be treated that way even to
covering the breasts on a lady and this portion
here [pubic area] when they’re working on it.
I don’t know, maybe so, but so help me, I’ve
got a lot to be thankful for. My mind is clear
and my heart is white.

Just the other day, I sat down at the table
alone, and a fellow said, “Gee, you’re alone.
Come on over and eat with us.” He introduced
me to the man who was there, and he said,
“I’ve known Si for I don’t know how many
years from when I was public administrator.”
He said that, “Whenever I had anything like
that, Si insisted it didn’t make any difference
whether it was indigent or a person with
money. If they had no relatives there and they
wanted a prayer, he insisted on a prayer. And
when that happened, the minister was never
in there alone. A couple members of the staff
were there.”

I’ll just illustrate that with a little anecdote.
Well, that was my one ideal. One of the things
that I never could do is to bury a lady in the
indigent cemetery. Now, of course, there were
exceptions. The Indians had their customs
and we had to go through with that. But I did
arrange later to get a piece of ground for the
Indians. It’s still in Mountain View cemetery.
But I never would bury a lady in the indigent
cemetery. I would buy a grave, a recorded grave,
in what was called the unimproved section of
the cemetery. And by that, I mean this, that part
of the cemetery that wasn’t in grass, maintained,
but it was kept clean. Now, if it was an indigent
case, the county made the allowance, but they
didn’t make any allowance for that type of grave.
Then I had that come back to me many times,
and I will cite this one in particular.

There was a doctor who lived in Tonopah
whose wife would get up and leave every once

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Silas E. Ross

in a while and go on a trip, and he wouldn’t
know where she was unless he’d receive a
note from her. She went away this time and
she didn’t come back, and he checked all
the areas where she usually went. He had no
history of her at all. Then he decided to go
around to the funeral directors in the areas
to find out if they had buried any unknowns
or if they’d buried somebody by this name
who was an indigent. He finally wound up
in Reno. He put the question to me, “Have
you ever buried an unknown lady or an
unidentified lady?”

I said, “Yes, several of them.”

He said, “Have you the records on them?”

I said, “Yes.”

And he said, “Have you found—buried
anybody within this period of time?”

I thought of one, and I said, “I think so.
I’ll go look it up.” And I found this one.

Now, I had the habit, whenever we’d get an
unknown, to measure the body, note the color
of the eyes, the clothing worn, the height,
approximate weight, and if it were a drowning
case, to allow for swelling.

So I said, “This is an unknown, and she
was found in the Truckee River, just across
from Wingfield Park, anchored on a dam
during relatively high water, and we were
called. She was anchored on some willows
there. My associate and I went out, and the
water was such that we couldn’t wade out, so
I swam out to it with a rope, put it around the
body, worked it so that it wouldn’t go over the
dam, and swam away from the dam upstream
and they could pull me in.

So we brought her here and reported it to
the coroner, and this was the description. It’s
all written down there, even to the size of the
shoe. If I was in doubt about it, I’d take it down
to Billy Johnston to tell me what the estimate
was. Of course, then you could estimate pretty
well the length of stocking, and so on, the type

stocking, her underwear, the skirt, the dress,
the hair and the eyes.

He looked the record all over. Then on it,
too, was a record, “No identification marks.”
There wasn’t any laundry mark, anything like
that, no purse or anything like that.

He’d asked me that question, and I
answered him. He looked it all over, and he
looked at me and the tears came in his eyes.
He said, “Mr. Ross, that’s my wife.” He told
me the story and then he said, “Where is she
buried? In the potters’ field?”

I said, “No, sir. She is in the single graves
in the public section of Mountain View
cemetery. It is not under endowed care, but
it’s kept clean. And there’s a headboard on it
and it’s recorded.”

So he asked me if I’d take him to the
cemetery. And I did. I took him up and drove
right to the grave. I didn’t even have to stop
to get the direction. There was a headboard,
“Unknown Lady.”

He looked around and he said, “What
would it cost to disinter her and put her in
an endowed care grave?”

I looked at him and I noticed he had a
Masonic emblem on, and I said, “You can
put her in the Masonic section, if you want,
on your membership. The graves there will
cost you fifty dollars under perpetual care.
You will have to buy an outside container
because this was in the county unit [casket].
And then you can mark the grave later, but
you can’t have a marker above the ground. It’ll
have to be flush.”

“Well,” he said, “what is it going to cost to
disinter her?”

I said, “Their price is (so much). And they
might be willing to raise it to the top of the
ground for the grave, if you give it back to

them. If not, it’ll be (so much money). And

then, the grave in the Masonic is (so much
money), and (so much) for the opening

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199

and closing. And then you’ll have to buy an
outside container. It can be of metal; it can be
of concrete; it can be redwood, and whatever
you take will determine the cost of that.” He
wanted protection. So I said, “That would cost
you so much money.” We got it all together.

“Now,” he said, “what’s your fee?”

I said, “Nothing.”

“Well,” he said, “you’ve put in all this time
doing this, so—.”

I said, “Yes, maybe I have. But I’m so happy
that one of my customs which is unusual is
proven to be worthwhile. And this is going
to give you some comfort. I’m amply paid.”

Well, he bought a metal vault. I told him
that it wouldn’t do any good to get another
casket, because I realized what a mess it
would be. We just wired it and kept her in
the original unit. He ordered the bronze
marker for her. The little extra that it cost to
place a lady in a recorded grave is nothing as
compared to the satisfaction of knowing that
a lady, a female, who’s somebody’s daughter,
somebody’s wife, somebody’s mother, and
she loved that somebody, and that somebody
loved her [is cared for properly].

Of course, I don’t care whether this goes
in or not—I was told I was wrong in this,
but I still believe it. Women that get into
that condition, where they’re paupers and
the like of that, are those that have been
deceived somewhere along the line by some
contemptible man.

Now, let’s see. There are lots of people
now talking about “private service.” There are
reasons for it; there are also objections. Now,
I think it impresses me more than would be
if I were in a large city, but I’ve come from a
rural area, and I know people that’ll travel
from Eureka and all of these outlying districts
to come in to attend the funeral, and they’re
great friends of the family, and they haven’t
seen the body, they haven’t seen the family;

they say, “You can’t come in.” Now, to me, I
won’t say it isn’t right, because, after all, I think
a family has a right to express themselves. But
you should be able to courteously ask them
this: “Now, suppose (I always try to know
where these persons were from) John Doe
from Podunk had come in. Are we to permit
him to see the body or attend the service, or
something like that?”

“Well, I hadn’t thought about that.” They
just let it ride.

So many of them say, “Well, now, what do
you suggest?”

I said, “Let it go with private service. But
you call your friends, and if anybody comes
from the outside and hasn’t had a chance to
see you, if they would announce themselves,
we will admit them.”

And you know, I’ve had many people
thank me for that. And always, in presenting
this, I’ve always asked them what they want
me to do under certain circumstances. That
opens it, don’t you see? Things that they
hadn’t thought about. I’d like to do what they
want.

Now, the types of service—[this is] the
private service, of course, and then those that
are semiprivate, where friends are invited to
attend. Then there’s the memorial service,
the church service, the home service, the
mortuary service, and the chapel service at
the cemetery. Now, those are all possible, we
find, I think, a little trend back to the church
atmosphere. But they always ask, with the
exception of the Roman Catholic and some
Episcopalian, “Now, is there a possibility for
us to have a little privacy?” Now, that’s not
possible in the small churches, don’t you see?
And that is why many of the people like to
have it at the mortuary, because they do have a
privacy with the body before the funeral starts
and they have the privacy of taking farewell
that they can’t very well get in the church.

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Silas E. Ross

Now, the chapel ceremonies at the
cemetery are mostly committal service, or
services during inclement weather. There is
an alternate to that. If it’s [given in] inclement
weather, it would be far better to close the
service at the conclusion of the mortuary and
just keep the body there until they’re ready to
inter it, then let us know and we can notify
the family to go out. If you take it up to the
mortuary chapel, it has to rest there overnight
and it’s there alone. And the question that
comes into my mind is this: Supposing there’s
nobody there at night and the watchman
comes in. Supposing they had a fire like they
did before? What could happen? And then
again, kind of introspecting, say, how would I
feel if my little mother were laying up there all
alone, one who loved to have people around?
Now? this, with us, it it’s inclement weather
and they want to have the committal there,
then as soon as the storm settles, take it over
and bury it, I insist that our hearse stay there
to move it, instead of putting it on a truck or
some flower wagon, or something like that,
and enough of us stay in order to handle it,
to carry it out.

Now, from an economical point of view—I
mean the cold-blooded dollar business—the
staff members would be longer on that
particular service than they would be the
other, which means that the mortuary’s losing
money, see? Well, that—that doesn’t count.

What kind of arrangements do the
mortuaries like ours make with the various
ministers around the town, with the churches?
Well, now, my policy, when I was there, all
of my staff did this religiously. When we got
down and started to talk about the service,
when they’d like to have it, and such things
as that, I asked them, or told them, that we
ought to communicate with the minister
to see it he could be available at that time.
And we ought to communicate with the

cemetery to find out if they could be there
and coordinate this particular thing. Then,
if they said, “I think that’s fine,” I would say,
“Do you mind if I call up the minister now
and the cemetery?” Call the minister first,
and they would talk to him and he’d say yes or
no, or, “we can adjust it this way because—,”
or, “take that up.” “Well., that’ll be all right.”
Then we called the cemetery to see if it could
handle the interment at that time. I always
tell the minister where the family is and who
they are. They maybe members at the church;
they may not be, but there’s someone among
the relatives with whom the minister can
converse. That gives the minister a chance to
call them, if he cares to. Then I always give
them his address. Now, since I’ve left, some
of the above services to the family have been
eliminated. People’ll go to the cemetery and
make their own arrangements.

What about people who want a religious
service but don’t have a church preference?
Was it our custom to call our own minister,
or to call the people on a rotating basis, or
something like that? No, we tried that. That
doesn’t work out. At least I didn’t think so.
We asked, “Are you interested in a ritualistic
service, or do you want just scripture and
prayer, or do you want remarks, and so
forth—eulogies, and what not?” When we’d
get that information, then I called the minister
to check it out. Now, then, if they want
remarks, I arrange for an appointment with
the minister and a member of the family.

Now, for instance, they say, “Well, a
Methodist minister.” There are three of them
here in town operating—no, two operating
out of one, and one other one independently.
If they would like the Catholic church, we find
out the priest that’s on duty and we’ll call him,
and he will arrange it without a particular
father. They like to talk to them. But if they
want a particular father, we would call him.

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201

If they want a Baptist minister—if they were
from Sparks, there are two or three Baptist
churches there. If they were here, there are
two or three. And they make their choice.
Now, some of the Baptist churches have
two ministers. I know I’ve been questioned
about this several times. We had a Methodist
minister at one time and we were using him
a little bit, and all at once, people didn’t want
him. So he came over to find out how we
selected a minister. I explained to him that,
“Our interest is the family interest, and it
makes no difference to us what minister they
want or what they don’t want. We’re going to
try to get the man the family asks for. Now, if
they say, ‘I want a Methodist minister,”’ I said,
“We’ll call you because you’re the minister in
charge. And if you can’t take it, you’ll tell us
so-and-so can take it at such-and-such a time.
That’s the way we do it. However, if they want
one of these so-and-so’s, we call him directly.”

First thing you know, he wasn’t getting
any services. He asked, “How come,” and I
said, “Well, they don’t ask for you.” He wanted
to know why. And I said, “Well, I can’t tell
you why, but my observation is this: my
conclusion is drawn from observation of The
reaction of the people. It’s the attitude that
you take when you come in here.” He’s abrupt.
“You’ll take this, This, This.” It wouldn’t go.
Now, that’s why, when Rev. Unsworth was
here, of the nondenominational, he had better
than ninety percent of the funerals. They’d
call for Brother Unsworth. They all called
him “Brother Unsworth.” Now, right after he
passed on, it was all Brewster Adams. And
when John Ledger was here, before he was
here eight years, everybody wanted John. In
many churches, They didn’t like their minister
and they’d get somebody else. But we’ve always
tried to be fair with every denomination. We
don’t want to be prejudiced. We want people
to know when they make their selection. As

far as I’m concerned, they could belong to any
of the major churches or any of the minors,
and even though I didn’t believe in hell’s fire
and damnation, and such Things as that, if
that’s what they wanted, I knew that they were
going to be comforted. I’ve tried to give them
just the same service as I give anybody else.

I’ve got a heading here—transportation
difficulties during my time. Well, in the early
days of horse-drawn equipment, we had roads
not paved and went great distances, and such
roads as They had weren’t very wide. And
through lack of direct communication by
road, we had to travel quite long distances.

Now, the first one that I have in mind is
the lumber area west of Verdi. Many of the
deaths There were by accident, and we’d have
to take a team and drive it up on the Dog
Valley grade near where they were and hitch
our horses and take a basket and climb up
to the body and then bring it back. That was
laborious work and it was difficult. Of course,
during the winter, we didn’t have anything like
that to do. But if we had a call at Floriston, as
we did quite often, most of the time we had
to go to Verdi and then up Dog Valley grade,
and into what they call Presser Valley to the
Little Truckee, where we crossed it, and then
we followed that to Boca. Then we crossed the
Truckee at Boca and the railroad track and
went down that side road south of the river
to Floriston, and then came back.

Now, the team would take you a good
many hours. But shortly after I was connected
with the firm, I began to look into this thing,
and I went down and talked with the chief
man in Sparks to see if we could ride the
“swing” and detrain at Floriston. That left
Sparks in the morning; it went to Truckee
and then came back that afternoon. We got
permission to do that. Now, that worked out
beautifully. If a death occurred during the
night, or early enough so that we could catch

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Silas E. Ross

that train up, we had a way over. It meant a
lot of difference. I arranged with the board of
health so that we could use the basket to put
them in and put them in the caboose coming
and going. Later, a passenger train used to
come through sometime in the afternoon.
And we could get on that and ride the baggage
car down. That helped it a lot, but you can
realize the difficulty.

Now, then, you see, there we had a law
we had to comply with, and we had to get
permits. That was in another county and in
another state, and I had to get my California
embalmer’s license almost as quickly as I did
this one here. I arranged with Mr. [C. A.]
Oaker, who was in the funeral business up
there, to file certificates for me because they
were Reno people. He had no objection.

Now, in northern Washoe County, you
sometimes had to make long trips with horses,
but after the Western Pacific came through
and got organized, if we made connection,
we could get on the Western Pacific at Portola
and go up and get the body and bring it back
to Portola and then to Reno. But as the roads
improved, we drove. Then when we got the
automobile, of course, that made quite a bit of
difference. Quite often, people from up in that
northern end, if there was illness, theyd try to
get to Reno for a doctor’s attention, and some
of them died on the way. Even sometimes
when they died up there, the people would
bring them in to us and save that long trip.
But you know, now, that’s the devil to do that,
and I’ve done it. The people had to be satisfied.

Now, then, we’d go from here and we
used to travel clear up into Long Valley, and
then the valley that it connects with up there.
We did quite a bit of work around Loyalton,
Portola, Calpine, Beckwourth, and so forth.
Let’s see. Sierraville— we’d sometimes go in
there, sometimes clear up to Quincy. But we’ve
sometimes gone as far north as Janesville.

Now, when the weather was good, it was
fine. But one year in midwinter, a man from
Loyalton died in Reno and they wanted him
buried in Loyalton. There was snow on the
ground; it was storming. We got to a little
place just the other side of Clio, right after
you got through that tunnel. There was a
little place in there. There was a sarcophagus
on the top of the hill on the right. I forget
what you call that. The snow was such that
we couldn’t get through with the wagon. So
we borrowed a sleigh and hitched to it and
took the body through and had the funeral
and came back. And you know, before we
left, we heated the bricks and so forth and
put them in the hearse or wagon and had
these big heavy coats, gloves, boots, and I
don’t know what all. As soon as we got up
there, and before the funeral started, we
arranged to put these bricks in a potbelly
stove to get hot. Now, it’s no trouble at all. We
never had any trouble getting to Janesville,
Beckwourth, Quincy.

Now, right around our own area in
the horse-drawn days, if there was a death
somewhere up around Mt. Rose or Hunter
Creek, or any place like that, you had some
roads you could get up on. For instance, we
could follow up the power company road on
Hunter Creek a certain distance. But over
towards Mt. Rose, we could go just so far and
then have to climb. Many times, we’d have to
go out and go up one of those creeks where
the sheep were.

One experience I had was rather unique,
and you know, I had a letter from a chap
that graduated in 1915, I think, this spring.
He said, “I saw your name in an article that
you published in the New Age.” He said, “It
recalled old times.” And he said, “I am fifty
years a Mason, and I am Master of my lodge
right now. And I thought you’d like to know
it.”

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203

I answered the letter and gave him the
names of the people that were in his class and
those thatd be a couple years behind him and
those a couple years ahead. I told him where
they were and what they were doing. In this
letter he wrote, he said, “Do you remember
you were coming way up on Hunter Creek
to pick up the body of one of our University
boys who died on a ski trip?”

And I wrote him and I said, “Yes. His
name was (so-and-so).”

I started with an automobile with a basket
across the back seats and I got out as far as
Plumb ranch, and the snow was too deep. I
couldn’t go further with the car. So I arranged
with Mr. Plumb and got a span of horses and
a sled. They’d given me the direction. The two
of us took that and we went up until we got to
a steep incline and we couldn’t go any further.
So I took one horse (and we always had ropes
that we took with us) and I rode to the top of
the hill on this one horse. The other fellow
stayed back with the remaining horse and
sleigh. And there, we made an improvised sled
out of extra skis, and such things as that, and I
also had a couple blankets. I placed the body
in that and we turned around to start down.
The boys were there. They held the rope that
was tied to the head end of this thing to keep it
from sliding too fast. And we brought it down
to where the other horse was. We put it in the
sled and came on down to the Plumb ranch
and there we put it in the automobile. I tried
to pay Mr. Plumb for the team and the sled
and he said, “That’s most ridiculous. I want
to do my part.” I recalled that to his memory.
They got the word to him, I don’t know how,
and asked for me personally.

Now, another interesting case was in the
early days. This was the day when we had a
company automobile, and there were three of
us in the business, and each of us would take
that every third Sunday. This Sunday, I took

it and brought the family and took them over
to Gardnerville and back through Carson,
Silver City, Gold Hill, and Virginia City, and
on home. Then when I got in, I phoned to let
them know that I was in, and they said, “Well,
we’re waiting for you because we have a call
from Long Valley. And they want you. They’re
an old-time family that you knew.”

I said, “All right, as soon as I can change.
I’ll come down and get a basket and run out
and get some gas and go on out.

He said, “Oh, no. The mother of this man
says she doesn’t want a damned automobile
out here. She wants horses because the boy
was raised on horses and cattle and all of
them that way.

So I went to the stable and got a driver
and we drove out. It was on the Evans ranch.
When we got there, [it was] pretty late, but
anyhow, the hostler was out to unhitch our
team, water the horses and feed them. We
came into the house, talked to the family a
little bit, and they had a big meal for us. I
got the statistical data and took the body out
and came to Reno. And just as we came over
Lemmon Valley, the sun was coming up. But
that showed the courtesy of these people. That
was true every time we went into the country.
But the odd part of it is this: within a year of
that time, this dear old lady bought a Packard!
[Laughing] When it came her time, she said to
tell them she wanted to ride in an automobile!

Now, I made another trip, way out in—
what’s the valley beyond Long Valley, going
to Susanville? Well, it’s that valley, up near
where the Western Pacific Station is. I drove
from around ten o’clock at night until about
four in the morning to get there. They, too,
took my horses and fed them and watered,
and then went in and had a big meal for me,
and came clear back. And that—it took me
just as long to come back as it did to go out.
So you see, those are pretty long journeys.

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Silas E. Ross

And I always took a driver, or whoever went
out took a driver with him. It was usually a
man from the garage, so he’d drive part of
the time.

On one of these trips, I drove all the way
out. We were coming back and got started
and I said, “You take over.” We were in pretty
good country, and he did. The first thing I
knew, I was almost bumped off the seat, and
I awakened. He was sound asleep, but I was
down here [gesture] .We had a span of horses.
One pulled faster than the other, and the mare
pulled the fastest, swung the wagon into the
sagebrush. I pulled him out of the sagebrush
and drove the remaining distance to Reno.

Well, we had a call to Gerlach and we
understood that we were to bring the body
in to Reno. So I went out prepared to do that
very thing. Then when we got there, they said,
“No. We want it prepared here, and we want
you to bring in a casket because we’re going
to bury her here.”

Now, as a rule, if I went on a country call, I
used to carry my embalming kit with me. But
the call seemed to be plain and I left the grip
home. And there I was. I was in a bad spot. I
got the railroad people to telegraph away at
Portola and back to Reno (after talking about
the kind of casket they wanted and so on) to
send the casket and an outside chest and my
embalming outfit out to me as fast as they’d
get there. I remained there, but I had to do
something about this.

So I had no cooling board or anything
like that, and I reverted the old way of getting
a sawbuck and a chair, putting a door on it,
and we raised the body and covered it there.
This lady had a purpural fever. I knew what
it meant, and I knew that I’d have to do
something. So I decided if I could get certain
things in Gerlach that I would improvise
and wash the circulatory system of the
extra blood, and that done, put more of this

improvised fluid in the circulatory system
and tie it off in order to stop decomposition.

So I went over to the store, and I got some
ordinary Epsom salt crystals, and I got some
of these straws that you drink through, and
I got some thread, and I bought the largest
needles that I could get. Then I rustled to get
a douche bag and then extra rubber tubing.
Then I got some glass jars from the people
there—they were like the old fruit jars—so
that I’d have something to catch the blood.

I used my pocketknife to make the
incisions. I smoked a long-stem pipe and
took the stem out and inserted that in the
vein and tied it off. Then I took up the—that’s
the femoral area. I took up the femoral vein,
and I injected in it and put that in with the
straw, tied it off and put a tube in it. Now,
for injection, I got a string that you put on
one of these picture things—on the wall
that held the picture—and tied it with that,
and put it on the wall and had the clamp, of
course, and let gravity work down through
the artery. And then as the blood came out, I
caught it in these blood bottles. And after that
was cleansed, then I thought the blood was
cleansed, I continued to inject this epsom salt
solution in the arteries until I thought they
were saturated. Then I had to wait.

Of course, I posed the body and closed
the eyes and mouth and orifices with cotton
and the like of that, and put [on] face cream
to stop desiccation. And finally, they came
through with the casket and so forth, and
we then did the proper injecting. We got
permission to get the certificate signed by
the coroner, and had the funeral, and came
home. That shows what you can do when you
have ingenuity. If I hadn’t had the chemical
background and things like that, I don’t know
where I’d’ve been.

We also had the same trouble in Truckee
Canyon here, having to cross the river and

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205

climb up these mountains because there was
no trail or anything like that up there. One
case in particular that was amusing, before
we got through—two of us went out on a call
and there were people up where the body was,
and we picked it up, started down the hill. We
raised it up, and the people that were on the
rear of the other end had to hold back while
we were getting down. When we got down
to the railroad track, we had to cross this
bridge. They had two planks, about twelve-
inch planks, together, right through the center
of the rails up here. So Mr. [Frank O.] Chick
was with me, and we decided to go across. We
looked in every direction. We thought we saw
that we could make it across, and we started to
walk across this bridge. We were fairly [well]
along when we noticed a train coming. And
what to do? Now, the thing to do was do our
darnedest to get across, but if we weren’t going
to get across, we decided that we would take
the basket around and jump overboard into
the river. But we got over.

All right, now, here’s another thing. In
those early days, we usually had a basket that
we carried the body in. It was made like a
coffin, plenty of room, you could remove the
top, lay the body in it, put the top back on,
and anchor it. And you could carry it most
anywhere. But it required lifting from a bed
down to the basket, then picking it up and
getting it out of the house. Now, when we got
into these homes, there was just a stairway
going right up there, just a narrow little—.
Many times, you’d have to tip it on end.
Or sometimes, in the hospital, the elevator
wouldn’t work. But where we were in some
of the flats, because of the winding steps, we
had to carry up and down.

And then we went from that to the
stretcher. It shows you what ingenuity and
thoughtfulness will do. They’ve developed
a stretcher now so that you can get it in an

elevator. You have it on four wheels, you
raise the body this way [by the shoulders],
and then, on the other end, you can lower
the body, that is, from the knees down, and
make a regular chair out of it. And those work
sometimes pretty well when you’re in these
apartment houses. But when you’re in these
apartment houses, you usually have to lift up
over the banister and make your turn getting
in there. Then you’ve got a steep stairway.
Then you have to lift it over again when you
get into the hail downstairs. And those are
difficult things to do. They have no provision
made for sharp turns or anything, but now
they have this new stretcher-type [carrier]
and it’s so arranged that, honestly, two men
can handle it, or it is arranged so that if you’re
coming out to the receiving cat, you can open
your door and adjust that thing in such a way,
tip it a little bit, and you have rollers on that
end of it that keeps it up, and you just pick it
up and push it in. And I want to tell you it’s
saved a lot of broken backs on winding stairs
and so forth.

Now, another thing that we started many
years ago, and I finally released it at one of
the meetings: I’ve always felt that when I
take care of a family for a funeral, I should
do everything possible to make this process
easy and to never direct them, but to lead
them, suggest to them. Then when everything
was over and the bill was paid, I still felt an
obligation to that family to help them along
any line. One of the things that I conceived
was this: I knew of many families who’d
moved out of the area and they had no one
here. I conceived the idea of letting them
know that we had a service that they could
use at any time, on anniversaries or any other
day, and that is if they wanted flowers placed
on the grave to send them to us, or [ask]
the florist to send them, or tell us what they
wanted to spend and we’d buy it, and we’d put

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Silas E. Ross

them on the grave. It started out in a small
way, and one year we placed flowers on more
than three hundred graves. Now, then, some
of these people had friends that they would
send them to. And some of them, it was the
florist.

You know, we ran into a little snag on
that. We used to get these things together
and go right up bright and early on Memorial
Day and place them on the graves. Well, it
took time to get around. Now, this is what
happened. Wed have them up there early, and
the wind started to come up and blow them
away. And sometimes, we wouldn’t get clear
around, and some friend that had been by the
grave hadn’t seen any flowers— said they were
up, didn’t see any flowers on the grave—and
they dropped a flower or two. Now, those
flowers were on there. But I went up there to
observe this myself, and I found these flowers
blowing away if we had a wind. I also found, in
going around, that if people came early, they
would go to some other grave, and they had a
right to say there weren’t any flowers because
we hadn’t been there.

So we changed our policy. We asked them
to have those flowers over to our place not
later than two to two-thirty in the afternoon
before Memorial Day. We took the flowers up,
and if there were vases there, we put them in
the vases and then anchored them with rock
and mud. If there weren’t any, we would dig a
hole and put them in there, stems down, and
put earth around them. If it was a spray, we
would anchor it; if there was a stone there,
we’d anchor it on the stone. If not, we’d take a
peg along and drive that peg down and anchor
them. Now, then, of course, there’s always
extras coming in. Then if some of them came
in late, we made a note if it was coming from
the florist, and we took them up and treated
them just the same as we did the others, but
we would write the family immediately and

say the order didn’t get to us until a certain
time, and we took them up. You know, they
don’t do that any more.

Now, our boys became so enamored with
this policy, and by that I mean this: they
became so enthused that they wanted to do
something about it. If it was their day off,
they’d ask to come up and help me decorate
the graves. Whenever you do anything like
that, you feel—well, anyhow, I feel—I know
they’re “looking down.” I know I’d like to feel
that other people feel as I do. Not only that, I
still do this. Oldtime families that are friends
of ours, and I know they’re buried up there in
the family ground, I take flowers to the grave
every Memorial Day. Even one old fellow that
was a hophead that used to do our janitor
work, I talked to him and finally got him off
the hop. He saved enough money to pay for
his funeral, and he gave it to Billy Johnson in
gold. I marked his grave.

I don’t suppose all people feel like I do.
And I don’t think the other fellow should do
it because I do. But I know if I was somebody
like this and away from home and I knew
somebody was going to put flowers on the
grave, I’d feel quite comforted.

Anyone that was connected with our staff
(some of them have no relations), I put flowers
on their graves. Mr. Burke’s family’s all gone,
Mr. Cloyd B. Thomas’ family is all gone with
the exception of one son, Mr. Fred Sawyer’s
family is all gone, and so on down the line.
There’s some of the University boys that died
that are on the list up there.

Now, another thing is this: I’ve always felt
that problems where people were unable to
think the thing through, who don’t want to
admit it—I mean, go and ask—ask somebody
else—. But they will come to me now. And
we can sit down—. Now, we had one that
happened the other day. This lady said to
me— she called me on the phone early in the

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morning, and she said, “Silas, you’re no longer
in the Ross-Burke Company?”

And I said, “No, I sold out five years ago
and have a mortgage on the place. But I go
over if the families want me, or they call me.”

And she said; “If you were there, ltd send
Mother there. And I want to know if it’d hurt
you if I send her someplace else?”

And I said, “No. After all, this is yours to
determine, not mine or anybody else’s.

“Well,” she said, “I thought of (thus-and-
so).”

And I said, “You’re in good hands because
there’s one of the boys that trained under me
in both places.

So she said she was going out there to
be with her mother, but she’d see me in the
afternoon. In the meantime, I’d contacted
these people to prepare them for her. They
carried it out. Now, I could’ve said no, but
you see, she wanted some assurance, as I see
it, that it would be all right. And, of course,
I’ve always felt that people had just as much
right to choose their funeral director as I
have to choose my doctor. It doesn’t have to
make any—. And I’ve also felt this, that if I
were called and the family wanted someone
else, I would never hold the body under a
technicality unless it was a legal technicality,
because I was quite sure—and I am quite sure
now—that no matter how hard I tried to serve
them, I couldn’t please them as much as if they
went to the other place. So, that’s it.

The other day a man came to my home.
Saturday night, his mother had died down in
the Los Angeles area and she wanted to be
buried in her mother’s grave. So he came to
my home. I recognized him and asked him to
come in. He started to talk and I said, “Come
on in.”

He said, “Now, my mother died, and
she wanted to be placed in the grave of her
mother. And I’ve been up to the cemetery,

and they say they don’t have her mother and
father buried there. And I checked both sides,
so I’ve come to you.”

And I said, “Well, tell me just—how
do you spell it?” It was McFarland. We had
McFarlin; we had MacFarlen; McFarland. I
thought I knew it, you see. He told me and I
said, “Well, we’ll call them Monday morning
and I’ll dig it out.”

But I got up Sunday morning, and I had
some of these old books. I came down here.
I located those two graves. I told him, “I
think,” I said, “I’m sure they were in Section
A on the right-hand [side] as you go in. The
mother and father were buried together.”
Mr. [Ray] Weldon was buried in the Weldon
plot and their parents were over on this side.
Mr. Weldon was dead. So I called the sexton,
and I said, “Look in Section A-l and see if
you haven’t got it,” and he had it. Now, some
of the others would say it was none of my
business, but it was helpful. I just feel that the
door should never be closed, and I’m going to
continue that. I wasn’t able to close the door
on Blanchfield. But you know, I just feel happy
when I place the shamrock on his grave. But
I’m going to do it as long as I live.

Now, then, in 1930, the plan for burial
insurance and pre-need was started, and
it was called the “Deseret Plan.” Previous
to that time, in the states, and particularly
in the South, a great many of the funeral
directors formed a little organization with
their own clients and solicited on that basis.
They would pay funeral benefits on the basis
of the number of people that were in the
organization at the time that the person died.
They charged a dollar and some cents per
person, and then they would use that towards
the burial and try to supply a funeral by the
person who sold this particular plan. Now,
then, if they went to another funeral director,
there wasn’t anything in it at all.

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Silas E. Ross

I opposed that, because it was a sort of
a tontine policy you never knew what you
were going to get. If you dropped out, then
all of what you paid in there was gone. If you
wanted to come back in, you had to start all
over. I opposed that and advocated insurance.

Now, then, this Deseret thing came in.
It was out of Salt Lake City and it traveled
all over this state and over Idaho, parts of
Utah, up into Montana, and in Colorado. It
amounted to a forty-dollar fee that you paid
directly to them, which would entitle you to
a funeral at cost, plus a certain percent. That
in itself did not appeal to me for the reason
that the cost was not defined; secondly, this
money was not deposited in a trust, or—it
was just available to these particular people.
So I made quite a study of it and when they
got pretty hot and they came into this state, I
took over the battle itself all alone.

In the meantime, I had collected all kinds
of information on the organization from the
chambers of commerce from the different
states, arid so on, and I put copies of all of
this information in every bank, and with the
state, and in attorneys’ offices. I guess we had
spent, oh, close to two thousand dollars or
more when I thought it was time to get the
funeral directors together. I, in the meantime,
had found out where they had been selling
this plan. They came in and we formed our
state association.

We got busy, organized our association,
set up dues, and then put in an assessment,
a per capita tax, to carry on this work
and instructed a committee to get busy
with the legislature to draft legislation that
would protect the public. We didn’t legislate
anybody out, but we made it possible to
come in if the purchaser was protected,
and so on. Now, beginning at that time, I
was opposing it nationally and otherwise
in the state, and any prearrangement or

anything like that, advocated that it be done
through life insurance or a deposit in a bank
(trust department) or a building and loan
association with a federal charter.

Well, anyhow, we passed those bills in
spite of the fact that they had a man right
in the legislature who was supposed to be
handling the situation for them. They couldn’t
understand why a certain senator had so
much information. His name was Burt, Lester
Burt, representing Lincoln County. He was
operating a little funeral home in Caliente,
and he was not a licensed embalmer. But
there was a licensed embalmer under the old
act in Pioche. And if there was any trouble
or difficulty, this fellow would come down to
Caliente. Anyhow, we groomed Mr. Burt on
all of this Deseret Plan, and at the same time,
his evenings were always spent right here in
Reno. He would work at night at our place to
learn the preparation of bodies. I fed him with
all this literature. And we were able to get this
literature pretty well distributed through the
legislators, particularly the chairmen. And we
passed these particular bills.

Now, when this Deseret thing came up
in 1931, the embalmer’s law was changed,
and in 1949, it was changed again, and in
1959, the first two amendments increased
the educational requirements for licensing.
And the 1959 amendment extended the law
to include funeral directors and apprentices
under a license system. Funeral directors
in this state have always been interested in
establishing standards of ethics, continuing
service to the public, and standardizing in
training, the educational criteria.

We got along pretty nicely until finally
the government got into the picture and a
suit was filed against this Deseret outfit, and
a trial was held up in Montana. This chap
that was representing the Dodge Chemical
Company was to be a principal witness. He

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209

had his portfolio and was giving testimony,
and his portfolio disappeared. And he didn’t
have anything to submit. So he called me
and I sent him my complete file at another
address. He used that in testimony, and these
people were convicted. Unfortunately, all of
these people that put in any money lost their
money. The fellow that had initiated it had
enough money to start a mortuary of his own,
but he cleared his own skirts; somebody else
was doing this, do you see? I know that right
here in Reno, they had a very fine attorney.
He was so sold on this proposition that he
invited his maid and others to buy this plan.
And then, we were talking about it and I told
him it was a fraud. But anyhow, a suit was
brought, arid then he wanted to know 6f me
how to get their money back.

Now, on these prearrangements, a few
years back, they started these prearrangements
that are different than that dollar down, and
the other was forty dollars, which was a
guarantee of—that’s the Deseret Plan. They
started the idea of prearranging funerals.
And I think that’s fine. It’s a great thing. But
it made it a commercial thing. I opposed it
all along and perhaps lost a little money for
the company, but I think I made some. Put I
contend this: if it’s an elderly person, they can
get social Security, and they can get welfare.
But they can’t get welfare if they have more
than seven hundred dollars. Yet they don’t
want Co be buried by the county. If they use
up all their money and they die and have
none, they’re buried by the county, $125. So
I advised them if they didn’t have ground to
go up to the cemetery and pay for it, even on
a deferred payment basis, then let us know
about what they wanted to spend, and take it
to the bank and put it in a trust department
or in the building and loan in a savings,
and write out their requests, and make us
the beneficiary. In the prearrangements, we

usually specify the depositors and let them
use the money—that is, they could use it. Put
to dissolve it, it has to be by mutual consent.
Now, that’s on one thing. People can get that.
Now, we have people in the business that
are selling this, and they’re legitimate. They
charge no fee for selling. (You also have the
insurance policies. You can get these for older
people, and they would get the same type
of policy you’d get if you were going to buy
insurance.)

Now, right in the beginning, they made a
mistake on that (prearrangement policy]. It
was to have a condition that it can be cancelled
by mutual consent. In two or three cases, some
fellow got ahold of the widows and got them
interested in investing their money, and so
forth. They withdrew the money, and when
they died, there wasn’t any money there. This
other way, it works out quite well.

Now, what we also do is this, [prepare
instructions like]: “Being of sound mind (and
what not), and desire to make preparation
for (thus and so),” [instructions to us are]:
“You are to take charge of our body and
prepare it in keeping with the law. Arrange
a (certain type) of funeral, (I mean church
or fraternal) or (certain) clergymen, music.”
If they want songs sung or they wanted a
soloist, and where they were to be buried— it
was all specified, even if they want clothing.
They may also make provision that we use
“or the equivalent,” because they might like
a certain type of casket and it may not be
available at that particular time, you see.
Or the estimate we gave them might change
a little. In the event that even though they
leave the money, it stops accumulating, “In
the event that at the time of the death there’s
not enough money there to take care of the
entire expense on this equivalency basis, (so-
and-so) in the family will pay it, or it can be
charged to the estate.”

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Silas E. Ross

Now, we had one the other day. I’m glad
I went out on it. This dear old lady had a
son, and when her husband died, she had
been quite well off, but she was at the point
where she had to go out on welfare. But she
provided for her funeral. She put his money
in the savings account; she had her clothing
and everything over at the mortuary. Those
things were all done. When the funeral was
over, there was a little bit more in the account
than she had estimated necessary. The young
man paid for the funeral, not knowing of the
account. When we got a copy of the bill, I
immediately wrote him, and we sent him all
this money.

One of the first ones we had was a lady
that worked here. She was working hard for
a living, and she had a daughter who was
in the University. The daughter was going
to teach. She made all these arrangements,
and when the mother died, the daughter was
teaching way up in the northern end of Elko
County, we notified her and asked her when
she would be here. And when she came here,
everything was taken care of; we were ready
to go right ahead with the service because of
the prearrangement.

Now, the insurance with this other plan,
there is no commission charge, see, no service
charge. Now, some prearrangement [plans],
they take twenty-five percent right off the
top for promotion. And then these that are
under contract, they have an insurance that
will cover anything if a man dies. Before he’d
prepared this thing, it’ll make up the deficit,
don’t you see? Yet, if there’s more there than
is actually spent, or the people wanted to
withdraw, they have a charge for doing that.

It just seems to me that, if they’re going
to sell a prearrangement, they should operate
like life insurance companies do. Their
salesmen should be bonded, truthful, and
give references, and everything like that. Their

forms should be standard and have to be made
public. And if it’s for Ross-Burke Company,
we ought to have to absorb that extra expense,
just like the insurance company does. But
some funeral directors don’t see it that way at
all. Well, I think that’s all I want to say on that.

Professional Associations

Now, the next (subject] I have down
here is the funeral service. The first recorded
attempt to form a funeral service association
by the so-called undertakers in Nevada was a
meeting called by George W. Perkins of Reno,
George Kitzmeyer of Carson City, Thomas
Dunn of Goldfield, and J. L. Keyser of Elko.
The meeting was held in Reno in December,
1906. But when these people got together, they
instructed the secretary to write every funeral
service operator (undertaker, they were called
at that particular time) of what they were
attempting to do and urging their assistance.
It was not as well attended as hoped for, but
there were representatives from Reno, Carson
City, Virginia City, Fallon, Winnemucca, Elko,
Ely, Goldfield, and Tonopah. Now, when we
mention Tonopah, that would cover a lot
of those small areas, you know, out near
Manhattan, and all that. Then, they invited
the funeral directors from the bordering
counties, and they appeared from Truckee,
Bishop, and Beckwourth. Although there
was some objection to the formation of an
association, the main important reasons for
poor attendance were poor transportation
facilities and the fact that most establishments
were small, one-man, owner-operated. This
group elected George Perkins of Reno as
its first president and George Kitzmeyer of
Carson City as the first secretary-treasurer.

At this meeting, the idea of licensing the
embalmers was advocated. A committee was
appointed to draft proposed legislation and

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211

seek information concerning the possibility of
bringing a recognized authority to Nevada to
give a series of lectures on and to demonstrate
modern techniques in practical embalming.
The committee reported at the next meeting,
which was held the latter part of 1908.
Now, this is being brief— the first proposed
statute was adopted by the members present
and submitted to the 1909 legislature for
action. The bill was passed and signed by the
governor. And the governor appointed J. L.
Keyser of Elko, Thomas Dunn of Goldfield,
and George Kitzmeyer of Carson City to the
state board of the examiners. Now, of this first
group that came in, Keyser and Dunn held
embalmer’s licenses from out of state. The
others didn’t have [licenses], other than some
employees. Now, all of this slate was appointed
by him, and his first formal meeting was April
20, 1909.

Arrangements were made with Professor
Hoenschuh, who had established an
embalming school in the Midwest to lecture
and demonstrate techniques in Reno in
September, 1909. Notice was given to all
so-called undertakers in Nevada and the
bordering counties of California. Thirty-two
attended the lecture to which Dr. Hoenschuh
gave all a written and oral examination. Of
these, twenty-eight passed the examination
and were given a license. And here, I have listed
them and where they were from: Henry Alter,
Reno, Nevada; J. Z. Archer, Reno, Nevada; P.
J. Bacigalupi, Rhyolite, Nevada; E. W. Black,
Fallon, Nevada; Frank Cavanaugh, Tonopah,
Nevada; I-I. E. Clock, Reno, Nevada; J. H.
Dick, Pioche, Nevada; W. J. Downey, Carson
City, Nevada; T. F. Dunn, Goldfield, Nevada;
Wallace Evans, Carson City, Nevada; John
Gallagher, Aurora, Nevada; E. W. Griffith,
Las Vegas, Nevada; John Gulling, Reno,
Nevada; P. H. Hjul, Eureka, Nevada; H. A.
Reams, Austin, Nevada; J. B. Kenney, Virginia

City, Nevada; J. L. Keyser, Elko, Nevada;
George Kitzmeyer, Carson City, Nevada; W.
Marsh, Tonopah, Nevada; J. F. Moody, Mina,
Nevada; A. F. McPhail, Sparks, Nevada; E. F.
Nevin, Ely, Nevada; C. A. Oaker, Truckee,
California; Thomas D. Rogers, Manhattan;
Nevada; R. E. Robbins, Elko, Nevada; Lloyd D.
Smith, Las Vegas, Nevada; Cloyd B. Thomas,
Winnemucca, Nevada; and E. N. Wallace,
Virginia City, Nevada. Four didn’t pass. It was
interesting, too, to go over where they came
from: Reno, Reno, Rhyolite, Fallon, Tonopah,
Reno, Pioche, Carson City, Goldfield, Carson
City, Aurora, Las Vegas, Reno, Eureka, Austin,
Virginia City, Elko, Carson City, Tonopah,
Mina, Sparks, Ely, Truckee, Manhattan, Elko,
Las Vegas, Winnemucca, Virginia City. Now,
Oaker was the only one that passed from out
in California. The association held no more
official meetings after 1908 until August, 1930,
when the organization was reorganized.

Ross-Burke Company of Reno was the
only Nevada firm holding membership in
the National Funeral Directors Association at
that time. This membership was held at large.
Here’s an interesting thing on that. Now did
we become members?

Now, this first group at their second
meeting paid dues to the National Funeral
Directors Association, and that was the end
of it. But I have been curious all my life, and
I kept reading the trade magazines to find
out, learn as much as I could, and particularly
the programs for the meetings. This was
the first year that they had something there
that I thought that I’d like to hear. One was
skin cleavage, and I went to a lecture on
that particular subject; the other was the
metallurgy of metals used in the casket
industry. I wrote to find out if I could come as
a visitor and listen to these lectures, or if there
was a possibility of me buying a membership.
The old fellow, his name is Kirkpatrick,

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Silas E. Ross

secretary of NFDA, said, “Yes. Send five
dollars and we’ll make you a member at large.”

I went back to the convention. Skin
cleavage always interested me, because many
people, in making incisions, would make a
cross section incision which was difficult to
close. But if you had your skin cleavage, if your
incision follows the direction of cleavage, you
will have no difficulty in closing the incision.

And then the metallurgy, I knew of the
metals that we were using, and from my
experience in mining and metallurgy and
chemistry, [I knew] the metals that they
were using at that particular time weren’t
everything that they claimed them to be. The
metals in use, being unalike when placed
together, set up an ionic reaction (for instance,
soldering two pieces of metal together) and
would rust out. In assembling the bronze
and copper caskets, to strengthen the corner,
they would put the casts of bronze and other
metals in there, which would set up an ionic
action, turn the interior green, and then rust
out. And the screws that they used on the side
to put on the handles, and so forth, were still
another metal.

When I came home and got to thinking
this matter over, I checked my ideas and
established the fact that I was right. And
by virtue of that, I was able to advise with
those other funeral directors and casket
manufacturers. The result of it is that many
of them changed their tactics. There again, I
had an experience.

The funeral directors used to have a
platted profit on those darn things, and they’d
hold these caskets a year or so, you see? And
the first thing you know, the ears on the
handles would begin to crack, and you’d show
the polish that it had on it wore off, and the
indication of erosion. They’d have to have the
exterior replaced. So I went into the thing and
found out that they were using these unlike

metals and called their attention to this and
suggested that instead of doing that particular
thing that they take the same material that
they use for the sides, bend it into shape,
and weld it together for the corners. A lot of
things like that that I was able to suggest, and
by golly, it was adopted!

Now, this membership at large. We had no
state association of funeral directors. In order
to belong to NFDA, one had to belong to a
state association. In the meantime, the statutes
governing the practice of embalming—that
means the embalming board—served as a
unifying force for the profession in the state.
Now, the changes in the embalmers laws were
made in 1931, 1949, and 1959. The first two
increased the educational requirements for
apprentices 7 And in 1959 the amendments
extended the law to include the funeral
director and provided for reciprocity.

About 1927, one of these salesmen came
through, and I showed him the records of
what I was doing. I had platted everything,
I had curves on it. He went back to Cedar
Rapids, Iowa, his headquarters, and he went to
Dave Turner, a man there who was an NSM’er
[National Selected Morticians]. He said,
“There’s a kid out in Nevada you ought to have
in NSM. He’s in a small town of Reno, Nevada.
But he has something I haven’t seen that any
of you have.” So Dave Turner reported it to
headquarters, and they sent two men to Reno
to check, flow, I remember, I took one couple
out to show them the valley, and the lady
insisted on sitting in the rear seat and finally
said, “Mr. Ross, do you belong to NSM?”

And I said, “What’s that?”

“The National Selected Morticians.”

I said, “I don’t know anything about it.
The only thing that I know anything about
is NFDA, but I’ve never seen a program that
was worthwhile, and I’m going to go back on
my own if I can be admitted.”

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213

Well, I wasn’t learning very much from
the salesmen who came through. But this year
at the National, as I’ve said, they had the two
clinics on skin cleavage and the metallurgy of
the metals used in the burial industry They
were both given at Cincinnati.

At that meeting, I was registering at the
hotel and met a funeral director by the name
of Charles Truman from Oakland. He was
glad to see me, and with that, he saw Ben
Wallace. He said, “Ben, come over here.” He
introduced me to Ben Wallace, and I said I
was from Reno, Nevada.

Ben said, “Gosh, I’m glad you’re here. It
saves me a stop in Reno. You’ve been elected
to the National Selected Morticians, and I was
to come in and get your application.”

I said, “I don’t know anything about it. I’d
like to talk it over.”

“Well,” he said, “the president’s over here
to talk to you.

So I said, “Oh, when I complete my
registration, I’ll come over with you.” And I
talked to Arthur Mann. I said, “Mr. Mann, it
sounds very interesting to me, but I have an
associate, and I’m on my way to Washington
and I’ll be there a period of time. Would you
send me certain literature telling me about
NSM and put on it, ‘Open and read, but save
for Mr. Ross’ return?”’ Mr. Burke did open it.

When I returned home, the first thing Mr.
Burke did was to ask me about the literature
from NSM. I said, “Well, Jack, these are what
they told me, and I asked them to send them
out for you to read it. You might like to get
more information.”

And he said, “Who the hell do they think
they are?”

I said, “I don’t know.” I said, “They’re
some very representative men from over the
country who want us as members.”

And he said, “Who are they to say they’re
selected? Who selected ’em?”

I said, “I don’t know that, either.”

Now, I could see that he was not in favor,
and I got to thinking about it and why. What
Mr. Burke did was to show this to a salesman
from California, and he opposed it. A number
of funeral directors were not in favor because
they weren’t invited to be members. I then
wrote to Mr. Mann and told him that I had
to convince my partner, but there was some
more information I would like to have. So
he sent it on, and finally, I wrote back and I
said, “My partner is not in sympathy with us.
I’d like to be a member, but after all, I’m the
junior partner,” and so forth.

So Mr. Mann wrote back to me and he
said, “Well, we’ll give it to you personally if
you’ll take it.”

And I wrote back and I said, “That’s fine
for what it costs for the service that NSM can
give. But still, is it fair to issue this to me, when
the regulation is that it’s granted to fins?”

They said, “We want you.”

Mr. Burke withdrew his objection; as
long as I was sold on it, he would vote to put
us in. Do you know Mr. Burke— we got him
to attend a couple of meetings, and he got so
happy with it! If a problem would come up,
they’d ask me to ask him, and he’d say, “Well,
ask Si.” By gosh, he’d’ve given his right arm.

Now, I attended the next annual meeting.
They had hired a chemist to do certain
research. He made a report. He gave a very,
very interesting talk. After they had hired him,
he did the analysis of the fluids that were on
the market, and he demonstrated the results
of his experiment to prove what was good and
what was bad. And gee, they were enthused,
everybody.Then they opened up a discussion
period. He let the people ask questions. Finally,
I asked permission to speak.

“Certainly.”

And I said, “Gentlemen, what I’m going
to say you probably won’t like, and what Dr.

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Silas E. Ross

[Ira Hilton] Jones has done is marvelous. He’s
shown us the folly of a lot of the ingredients
that are used in the fluids. But don’t expect
him to develop a fluid or anything like that in
a day or a week, because, from this, he has to
get an idea, and then he has to approach that
field. And in all experimental work, you run
up against a snag and you have to back up. It’s
going to take time. So don’t be disappointed
if he doesn’t solve our problem immediately.
Keep him at it ’til he finds the answer.” And
there, all at once, there was quite a bit of
applause.

And Dr. Jones said, “Gee, I’d like to have
that fellow on my research committee.”

I was appointed on it. Well, I did do quite
a bit of research and thinking on that project
and continued the thing while I was on the
board. Then I was elected president. The
nominating committee approached me and
asked me to accept the presidency in Los
Angeles. My answer was no.

They said, “Why?”

“Well,” I said, “I’ve only been in a short
time, number one; number two, I am in a
small business, and I can’t afford to—the
expense of this thing, and I can’t leave too
often.”

They said, “We’re not taking ‘no’; we’re
going to see you in the morning.”

So Emily discussed it with me, and she
said, “I think you ought to take it.”

I said, “Well, Emily, it means this....”

She said, “We’ll get along.” So I was elected.
What I did with this board was to sell them a
program of research; I sold them the idea of
getting consultants on a part-time basis. One
was in insurance, the other was in political
science, another one is in chemistry, another
in pathology, and such things as that. I think
I had five projects, and four of them were well
along and proving successful. The fifth, the
preliminary work was not completed after that

first year, and that’s why I was reelected—to
see them through to a successful completion.

Dr. Apfelbaugh, the one man who went in
the pathological side, when they approached
him, he kind of smiled and said, “Ridiculous.”

Finally, I said to him, “Now, Doctor, don’t
say no. Think it over. You’ve got a field here
where you can help us, and maybe we can
help you a lot.”

Now, this man was the chief medical legal
pathologist in Chicago. He taught pathology
at Rush Medical School, then lectured at
the University of Illinois, and lectured at
Northwestern in the field of medicine. He
came back the next day, and he said, “I am
interested. You proved me wrong.”

And, funny part, he couldn’t find human
cadavers because [of ] all of the unclaimed
bodies and fetuses, because all of these
things by law became the property of the
Pathologists Association of Chicago. The
only requirement was that they would have
to furnish enough human bodies for the
medical schools in the area for dissection,
and so on. So I suggested dogs. We started
on that. And you know, he got so interested
that he finally elaborated on it. He was very
active in the pathologists’ association and
with hospitals, and he came in with some
recommendations to them.

The insurance thing worked out and
when research was completed, we found out
that none of us had complete insurance, and
most of us were underinsured in some lines,
and overinsured in others, and some we
didn’t have at all; they didn’t have complete
coverage. But we started to work on it. We
found that Lloyd’s of London would give us
a master policy, and if we would adjust our
insurance so that it was properly balanced as
far as they could see with the local companies,
they would insure us on everything that wasn’t
covered. And we got the master policy.

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215

But really, I was just lucky, that’s all. I fell
into these things because I was curious. Now,
they kept me on as chairman of research for a
long time. I told them that I couldn’t afford—
and they couldn’t afford—to bring me back
to Chicago a couple times a year, and such
things as that, this distance, so they made me
consultant on research.

I also advocated that we should have an
advisory council on insurance out of the
Chicago office on a part-time basis, and an
advisory council on business management
and a standard accounting system. These
people all went in part time and they put
in the action at the advisory capacity, and
we could put our information in, and they
would analyze it. And it’s surprising what was
accomplished.

Now, NSM had started this program
before, and they asked the cooperation of
the embalming schools. The embalming
schools replied that all the research that
was necessary, they were doing, and they
didn’t need [an association]. We offered to
cooperate with them. So we hired a chemist
and he had no appreciation for pathology.
But when we started out on this new basis, we
had a pathologist, and out of that grew this:
courses on embalmed tissue, which made it
possible for you to withdraw the blood that
was in the circulatory system and replace it
with sterilizing fluid. A sample of blood and a
sample of the stomach content were required
before starting the injection of sterilizing
fluid. And that made it far more sanitary for
pathologists to do autopsies. And you know,
out of that grew a book. He was the head of
that division of pathology, too. And he wrote
a book describing this operation.

It’s an interesting thing, during the time
of this Stead Air Base near Reno, there were
a lot of autopsies, and a doctor came in to do
an autopsy one day, and I watched him. And

I said, “I only know of one other man who’d
ever done the autopsy the way you have done
it, and that was Dr. Apfelbaugh in Chicago.”
He said, “That’s where I got my training.”

Now, since that time, they’ve put in
a part-time man on the matter of plans
and specifications. Anyhow, it was quite a
successful thing, and I left with flying colors.
But on the strength of that particular thing, I
was asked to serve—I was called from Seattle
or Portland and asked if I would go on the
board of governors of NFDA in this district.
I told them no, I wasn’t present and I couldn’t
come up there, but they said, “We want you.

So I finally said yes. Like Senator Oddie,
I guess—if I were a female, I’d be pregnant all
the time because I couldn’t say no. So I served
one year and resigned for the reason that you
were very well curbed as to what you could
say, as a director, of your problems, and so on.
They held these meetings in different areas
of the country. It cost a lot to travel, and time
away, so I resigned from that. But then they
put me on the educational committee. I served
as a member of it and finally chairman of it. I
finally sold NFDA on this two years of college
business and the prerequisites.

Now, then, we joined the Conference of
Funeral Service Examining Boards. Thank
God I had an education that was quite helpful
there ; and the committee on inspection of
schools had already been appointed and
acted. But when they came West, they asked
me to go along with them. And we worked
in San Francisco and the Los Angeles area.

We found that these people divided
themselves up; each took a particular section
of the work that was going on and made
his report. They were working separately.
When I met with them, before they went
out, I suggested that they change that a little
bit—have it overlapping. The man that had
charge of this, he would probably go over to

216

Silas E. Ross

another group and conduct this thing, and
this, and this, and this, and this. This man
would go over here, and this one would go
over here, and they would gather information.
I worked with each one of them on that, and
we were able to discover quite a number of
[differences] to straighten the thing out.So I
served on that board for three years and then
was elected president. Then after I retired as
president, I was consultant to the board on
these things.

One of the interesting and strange things
we found while we were on it was this:
we decided on what was called a national
examination. Tie asked the schools to each
submit a series of ten questions on each
subject and give the answers. Then we would
pool those things and wed make up, say, about
five sets of examination papers, taking some
from one and some the other. If you wanted
to take a conference examination, it had to
be sent out. But we discovered something
wrong with that, because so many of them
were giving the same absolute answer from
all over the country. It was found out later
that the schools agreed among themselves
that when they made out the questions, they
would furnish each of the other schools with
their questions and answers. And before
graduation, they would put these kids all
through these questions and answers.

So we decided to stop that and wed do
the examinations ourselves. And fortunately,
we had three people who could probably do
that. We had a dentist; we had a fellow that
had his doctor of osteopathy; and I, who had
the background in chemistry and metallurgy,
and such things as that. So we made out the
questions and the answers and sent those out.
And there was a big howl, and particularly,
a big howl on the chemistry which I had—I
think I had chemistry, restorative art, and
one other thing. You know, I never asked

them to write a formula or a reaction or
anything like that at all. I just asked them the
practical questions so that they could apply
their chemistry. So we knew that would work
very well.

We then made a contact with a good
premedical school— and it was a private
school. And they agreed to do this for us at a
certain consideration. We had in turn agreed
to supply them with a copy of the texts that
were used in the different embalming schools
in all subjects. You see, there would be no
question asked of the qualifications of the
people who were making out the examination
questions. As a matter of fact, we had the
thing checked. Dr. [Jesse] West had a better
medical and anatomical background than
anybody that was teaching. I had a better
background in the chemical side of it, which
included inorganic, organic, biochemistry,
and fluids, and so on. And [Glen] Macy, a far
better background in pathological sciences.

Those things worked out, and we
accomplished a lot. We were able to get these
embalming schools to cooperate. We worked
hard towards a common end. we were able to
make suggestions to them that were helpful.
They increased the requirements to teach in
anatomy and chemistry, and in the liquids,
and such things as that, which was a great
help.

Well, that was the beginning of establishing
of pure research, and that’s what NSM [is]. It’s
a research institution. To belong to it, you’ve
got to cooperate in research, and you’ve got to
show progress. I don’t know, I’m still helping
the schools by NFDS and by NSM asking my
opinion on certain things.

In the Conference of Funeral Service
Examining Boards, we had a complicated
situation that was hard to resolve. The
funeral directors could talk their language;
the university professionals could talk their

A Career in Funeral Practice

217

language, and there was no way of getting
together to consult. Then again, these people
that go out and inspect the mortuaries and
the embalming schools, they didn’t have
enough (vocabulary), but I happened to have
the background that I could talk both. So I
was appointed to the education committee
and served for one time, and then I was an
advisor. Now, those things built the reputation
of Ross-Burke Company. And while it meant
work, I thought that I was giving the people
that came to me the good information from
good sources which was correct, or they
wouldn’t permit me to advise them.

Now, out of that time, we worked out a
cooperative agreement. For instance, a person
died in San Francisco and the family was all
here. They wanted to make the selection and
arrangements for burial here. Under this
agreement, it was possible for us to arrange
with our representative to call for the body,
embalm it, get the certificates, and send it to
us, and so forth. We advised the family here
of what they had to do in releasing the body.
And finally, we reached out internationally.
It’s surprising what can be done through
international cooperation.

Results of Research in Funeral
Preparation and Service

Now, on my own research, I got permission
from the county commissioners and the
county health officer to try some experiment
work. I was not satisfied with the powders
that they were using that were available to
us, and I wasn’t satisfied with the powder that
we used, the powder that the lady used on
herself from her cosmetics. It never worked
out, and you wonder why. It’s because the base
is dead, see. So I started to work on that, and
I got Prof Wilson interested in it. We didn’t
arrive anywhere, so I conceived the idea of

trying liquid for powder work. Then on the
creams, just ordinary quality cold cream with
a certain tint put in it and one that would close
the pores—it wouldn’t melt or anything like
that—and we could increase or decrease the
amount we put on.

Then the next thing that bothered me was
this: in the process of—they call it embalming,
I’d like to say sterilizing the body, the operation
of it, we ran up against—particularly during
flu times and pneumonia—a lot of blood clots,
postmortem staining, and the like of that.
They were hard to remove. To get complete
saturation was almost an impossibility, with
the result that there were dark spots. I studied
that, and I just rationalized it this way: when
we get constipated and the like of that, we are
given a laxative. Well, what does a laxative do?
Constipation is usually caused by inability to
pass stool; it’s big and hard, and so forth. All
right. How do you dissolve it? How do you get
it out?Well, you take epsom salt or something
like that, and—it’s a dehydrator. You get that
in the area, not too strong but slowly. It will
begin to absorb the moisture that’s in the
blood clot. The blood clot is fibrin—moisture,
you see? And as it did that, it would enlarge
the capillary or the artery or the vein, and it
reduced the whole thing down to liquid, and
it would pass easily. Then I worked further
and could even do it with salt. So I showed
that to a chemical company. They took the
idea and they came out and they called it
blood solvent. And boy, I went in the air!
Now, that means to dissolve. I went in the air,
and I said, “Gentlemen, it’s all wrong. It’s all
misinformation. You got the idea from me,
and you’ve got to use the proper term, or forget
it! What it does, instead of dissolve the blood,
it takes the moisture out. It allows this blood
and the fibrin to go out. It enlarges the artery.”

Now, the next thing that concerned me
very definitely is a matter of aspiration. Now,

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Silas E. Ross

you use aspiration to get rid of gas or any
blood that might be in the cavities, and such
things as that, or any fetal matter that hadn’t
come out. The old way that they were using
at that particular time, you had a blood bottle
and a cork and something over here [gesture]
that went into the artery or vein, and over here
[gesture] you’d pump. As you did, you’d pump
the air out; that caused suction, see. But you’d
use that pump and such things as that. I got
to thinking about my laboratory experience,
and I said, “Gee, whiz, why can’t we use an
aspirator like we do [in the lab]?” So I went
up to the laboratory and got some of these
aspirators that we used to use in aspirating
and filtration, you know? It’s quite successful
on certain cases. Others, it wasn’t so good.
And that’s because of the arm that goes out
here [gesture] to which you attach the rubber
tube; it had too small a hole in it. So I had that
taken off and had a hole made, oh, about half
the size of a lead pencil and another one the
size of a lead pencil. I used that and it worked
quite well; we called it a “water aspirator.”
Now, you turn the water

There was Dave Turner at an NSM
meeting, and he was the man that the
salesman talked to to get us in. He said, “I’ve
got an electrician that is a genius on things like
that. Maybe he can do something about it.” So
they perfected it and got a control. They added
to this a blower, which could dry the hair and
such things as that, and a number of little
things. They had two made up, and he kept
one; I had to buy the other. It’s still over there
at Ross-Burke Company. It’s interesting. But it
has been improved now to where you have the
control and you only have [a machine] three-
quarters the size of that [tape recorder]. The
first one was in cabinet form, a small cabinet
that you could move around on rollers.

Now, then, they used to sell a rosy tint—
paid three and a half for a little bottle. So I

analyzed it; there was nothing more than
cochineal in it. You know the little cochineal
shells, the little white shells from the little
white fish? And you crush ’em up and you
put them in alcohol or water and you make a
solution, see? So I gave it to Dr. Jones, and he
came and demonstrated it and he would buy
so much cochineal in the shell and ground
it up and he could make almost a tub of that
stuff. So that was changed, and that was the
kind of cosmetic—liquid cosmetic.

When we were doing our experimenting
(mind you, we received cooperation from the
University of Indiana on this, injecting the
different fluids and then keep the injected
body a certain time), we had a little problem
getting that kind of a rigidity of the features
we desired in wanting to please people. We
hadn’t arrived at anything at all. One day I
said to the doctor who was the chemist and
the pathologist, I said, “You vaccinate for
smallpox and such things as that and you
use the smallpox bacteria. Why can’t we get
the bacteria of decomposition and make that
into a fluid, but inject it, which will counteract
this thing.”

We tried that. And it worked, but it didn’t
give rigidity. The only way to get rigidity
would be, after we’d had the tissues saturated,
to inject a certain formula into the areas that
you didn’t want to get soft. We tried it, and
even Mayos tried it, because they thought
it would be a marvelous thing for them. But
the first that they shipped out to us here, they
shipped it out in cans, and it just ate the can
up. We tried it in bottles, but it corroded those.
If you spilled it on the embalming tables, it
was more powerful than hydrofluoric acid.
So I suggested that maybe they could make it
into a salt, potassium or sodium salt, and then
we could add the water as that worked. The
trouble is that the embalmer wasn’t chemist
enough to handle it. So we had to discard it,

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219

but I thought it was pretty good when Mayos
[became interested].

Another thing that we had trouble with is
the body getting this trail of mold. Dr. Jones
picked that up right away. He said, “I think
I can do that.” He had been taken from the
chair of chemistry at Arizona, and back to
the dairy people in Wisconsin to work out
something that they could put in their butter
things, that is, casks. And he used that as a
basis and developed this other, and we used
that to put in caskets and such things as that
where they’ve been sealed, and they were
going to be held for a time, and they never
had any mold.

Now, those were all little things, and a lot
of people said, “Why didn’t you patent it?” In
the first place, it hadn’t been perfected. And
in the second place, if it was worth a damn, I
don’t see why everybody shouldn’t have it. I
wasn’t doing that for money. But we did build
quite a reputation on it. Those things were
quite a satisfaction to me.

Oh, I was called upon to lecture several
times in the matter of embalming and funeral
service. I’ve even been to Canada—in different
states in the United States and into Canada.
I was called upon to go back and act as a
catalyst between an embalming school and
Temple University. We were trying to—Eckels
was trying to tie in with them, to get them to
teach certain subjects and give a certificate on
embalming. But unfortunately, the average
funeral director, or even the druggist (and
young Eckels was a pharmacist), they had a
certain language; these people over here had
a certain language. And thank God for my
experience at the University and these others; I
could talk to them. And I was able to reconcile
this thing for the Eckels College of Embalming,
and they took these young people, in spite of
the fact that many of them were going in even
with just a high school education.

They had an experimental course down
there; it’s kind of an extension course, where
they take adults who don’t have this academic
background but aspire to perfect themselves.
There’s a name for it, but what it is, I don’t
know. You can register there and get a lot
of preparation. If you make good in this
particular thing, they give you credit for that
towards going ahead and getting a degree.
One of the first men to do that was a young
chap from Colorado, on my advice. He went
back and got his degree, but he had a pretty
good education before he got there. But they
want to let down on it.

I was later called to reconcile a
misunderstanding between the university
school of medicine at Washington—Seattle—
and the embalmers of the area. They finally
got a mutual understanding. Then I was asked
by the school and by the embalmers to suggest
a course of study. So I sent for the catalog to
see what they did teach. And I found, with
the different departments that were in there,
they didn’t need any extra staff. They could
have a man who could teach embalming who
could organize this thing, to sort of chair it,
and they could get all of these basic things,
you see, like woods, chemicals, metals, and
so on, and they’d give him biological science
with comparative anatomy and anatomy,
biochemistry, and then set up a course for the
embalming. I suggested contracts between the
school and certain funeral directors around
there who’d take them on to teach them the
practical side. Then I also set up a program
for managers and so forth to come back, and
they would get a regular AB degree. On the
basis of that, they then came back and asked
me to write the context.

So I went to the president of the University
of Nevada and asked if I might use, for
instance, a representative of the psychology
department, one in biological science, a

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Silas E. Ross

professor in chemistry, and so on down the
line. I got some help on it, and I got, I guess,
Dr. Walter Palmer. He was in metallurgy, over
on the other side. I got some of them from
the speech and business department. I talked
it over with them and showed them what I
had and asked them to take it and study it to
tell me where I was wrong or what should be
added. I was quite fortunate. They didn’t take
much out, and they didn’t add much. We set
it up and they agreed to go ahead.

The bill was introduced in the legislature.
Now, mind you, here’s a school of medicine,
wanting this as a part of it. The union labor
was opposed to it and defeated it. They had
influence enough to defeat the bill. At a later
time, the demands of the unions made on the
funeral directors in the matter of hours, salary,
and vacations were defeated by managers of
the funeral businesses.

Now, I also cooperated with Nebraska in
writing a law. Of course, they had a school
of medicine that was interesting, got that
catalog and I found that things were different
in Nebraska than anyplace else. In Nebraska,
they’ll take you right into your four years of
medicine at the end of your second year in
college. But their curriculum there, in the
first two years, eliminated a lot of the stuff
that you get in the cultural course—gave
you more chemistry and such things. Well,
they took you through inorganic and organic
up through the theoretical side, and some
practical side, then they were brought ahead
on biochemistry. But they did that to educate
these young fellows to get them out into the
field because Nebraska was feeling the need
of doctors. They would go away to school, or
graduate there, and go into other areas where
there was a big hospital; so they were used
to that. And then they got an arrangement,
somehow or other, that these kids, when they
got out, they would subsidize them and place

them in these small communities, and they
would underwrite them to go in there to give
them this service: So, when it come to writing
the law, those people had followed ours pretty
closely, but we had to go back and adjust it to
their program. Ours was set up on the basis
of three years of college here, you see. I had
to cut theirs down to two years, and then
it would be [compatible]. I felt quite happy
that I was able to do that. But the only reason
I was able to do it was the fact that I had
teaching experience on the academic level.
Maybe another thing is that I was sort of an
idealist. Those were the things that I had all
along the line that helped us go along. So I
was the representative.

Now, another change that I observed
during my time—in the early days, if you had
a lodge funeral, you met in the lodge room to
do it, and it was exclusively lodge; that was all
there was. But if they had a church funeral,
you prepared the body and kept fit] in the
mortuary; you took the body to the church.
And there, they had the church service. Then
a fraternal order would get it and take it up
to the lodge room. But as families grew up,
people began to move into smaller homes or
apartments, and such things as that. Many of
these bodies, you know, were prepared in the
home and kept there with the casket, and from
there to the church, and so on. So they had
to provide a little chapel and a place for the
fatly—privacy, you don’t get that. Out of that
grew the mortuary chapel, and the growth of
that, and it became quite popular.

We can use an illustration right now. Most
of our Masonic funerals were from here [in
the Masonic Temple]. They were completely
Masonic, but it was very, very short, and it
was long at the other end. It was written that
way because of the old church layout. But it
got crowded—traffic, and such things as that.
And that was bad.

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221

Now, we find that in the East and in the
older communities where they used to have
big homes that funeral parlors were really right
in the heart of the business area, or they were
out a little distance where they had parking
area—the old homes, see—and they had the
home atmosphere, and they joined rooms
together for it. Of course, out of that grew
the development of the complete mortuary
establishment with the elevators and such
things as that and the air conditioning. They
were planned primarily around the fatly,
secondarily around the friends, and then
lastly, what was left wed use for operation.

A health regulation about people being
present in the embalming rooms and sanitary
rules came in, and then we had to do
something about that. That’s why, when we
went over here [to the Ross-Burke Company
building], I put the operating room upstairs,
so that you don’t—the suction clamps, and so
forth, where people do not walk in on you.

Now, the “family room” is small, but a lot
of the mortuaries don’t have a lavatory close
to the family room, and they have to walk
across the hall or around. So I put a toilet and
bowl right in that area in back of my family
room, so they can move back and forth. This
is a side issue. My observation is this: that
when people are in deep sorrow and there’s
a tension, their kidneys work—they have to
go to the bathroom. So you ought to have
something very close. Another thing: you
ought to have another bathroom where the
public can go without walking around too far,
and then something on the other area handy
so that when they’re selecting a casket—.
Those things come first, with the other.

Now, here’s another thing that I observed:
that if you lay a body out against a white
background, the effect was terrible. They used
a lot of white. But suppose the person died of
a fever of some kind, you know what that—

skin is light. Suppose they had a jaundice. Or
suppose that you had to do dermasurgery,
and so forth. We suggested different types of
interiors, We were some of the first to try it,
and it worked out.

We were some of the first, instead of this
old shroud, to have dresses made. We were
just lucky that we had credit enough down
at the dry goods store, and we didn’t have
to use terribly expensive stuff. We had girls,
one who was the attendant, who was a pretty
good dressmaker herself, and another lady,
that made this thing. The only thing that we
suggested was this: to make the sleeve holes
large and to make the sleeve relatively large,
either three-quarters or this (full length], and
the placket deeper with plenty of material
there so that you wouldn’t have to tear it
apart to put it on the body. You try to put on
a dress sometimes, and the body is prepared,
there is rigidity. There’s a stress and strain, and
sometimes you’d tear it. A lot of people cut
them up the back, and in my judgment, that’s
the worst thing they could do. They shouldn’t
do it, but then, those things crept in.

An attempt to improve the protection of
the case was the entry of the concrete outside
case or vault. A local cement contractor built
several and marketed them for use in the
cemetery. The first experience that I had with
them was, a man built a sort of a sarcophagus
out of reinforced concrete, concrete base, and
a granite top. When we had occasion to open
that for the second body, it was full of water.
Now, they have a process of putting something
on concrete. (See, concrete will absorb
water—interesting.) That helps it some. And
then, we found the concrete vault that they
had (it was like a cask, and then you would
put the top on it), it was sort of a male-female
[lid arrangement]. The female was the box
below, and the male portion had a projection
like a dovetail. You fill it with plastic of some

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Silas E. Ross

kind, tar, but that would leak. Now, we tried to
bury them. They were awfully hard to handle.
We used the air-seal. It worked pretty well as
long as you had the bottom level and it was
in a sandy soil so the water could leach away,
and the base was high enough so that if it
did have a seven-foot head of water, it would
only raise the water inside so high. But it was
awfully hard to handle. Then they went into
metal vaults. They had the top-sealer and an
end sealer. Then finally they came to the bell
vault. Those things have worked very well for
protection.

Now, right at the present time, the
cemetery’s in the vault business. A lot of
people here in Reno right now are the ones
that caused it. They decided that they didn’t
want to sell vaults; they’d rather sell metal
caskets—let the cemetery do this thing. Now,
the cemetery has made regulations that you’ve
got to have a sectional vault or the other type
of vault with just a top on it, see. Then they
have the other one that they have the sides and
bottom. They have some holes in it that have
the male-female type thing up there, sealed
with tar. And they’re using those.

Of course, during the world war, they
couldn’t get these things. We were lucky,
though, because we always bought our vaults
by the carload lot. People, while they were
making some of these vaults, they weren’t
making many, but they liked to ship in carload
lots. I had them wire me for it from even as
far back as Iowa during that period—I mean,
during the war, and so on. We used them,
and the cemetery will use them, but they will
charge you that extra charge for opening and
closing the grave anyhow, so that they don’t
lose any money. But the funeral directors here
don’t want to sell those things. They want to
sell metal caskets.

And there is one of the frauds that there
is in this. You have different gauges. You

start out: now, twenty-gauge means twenty
of this to make an inch; twelve-gauge, twelve
of them; eighteen-gauge, eighteen of them;
ten-gauge, and so on down the line. Now, our
twenty-gauge is very thin. They’re very much
like these automobiles you buy today. They’ll
bend and break, and they’ll rust out.

There’s another piece of research I did
because I found in some of the caskets we
had, particularly copper and bronzes, they’d
stay there for a long, long while, and pretty
soon, you’d have to have them relined, see,
because the lining began to turn green. Now,
I disinterred some of those, too, and I found,
also, the handles—there was rust around the
ear from the joint to the inside. So I found out
what these things were. The thing that they
put in the inside in the corner to give it rigidity
was brass. It was shot. Now, then, you have
the copper or the bronze now on the outside,
these two coming together, they’re unlike, the
ionic action sets up, and you get rust, you see?
That’s where you get your green. I suggested
to one of the companies that they try using
the same type of material that they used in
the shell, see, and put it together and make
it good and thick, and put it in the corner
and braze it in heat to get rigidity. And they
used it. I also suggested to them that on their
handles that they should attempt to use the
same kind of screw or bolt as the casket side
was. And that was difficult. I finally got them
to go on the inside, and they would braze the
head and the nut, and so forth, to go through
with a light material, more molten material,
to cover it up.

Then I got into another thing—a lot of
these people would keep these things for
over a year before they would sell them. The
handles, the clips of them, would falter, crack,
but sometimes the ear. Most of the ears that
they put on (that’s the thing that fits up against
the casket, the holes for show), quite often, I

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223

found out that that was a steel. I just guessed
at these ends. I asked them to send us some,
and Id either get it analyzed or analyze it. So
I took it up to Walter Palmer and got him
interested. We got more advertising out of that
than— (laughing). I said, “Walter, the only
thing is that they pick up all the scraps and
the like of that, metal, and they melt it up and
they pour it into a frame, and that makes the
ear. And then they fasten it on with a screw.
And the fact that theyd do it that way with all
these kinds of metal means that it’s crystalline,
and in time it’ll fracture.”

So Walter analyzed some of these things
and asked me to come up and watch them.
We did find that there were different elements
in there. Then we put some aside, a case over
here, exposed to the atmosphere; it worked
up. Then we took some of this and ground it
down and studied it under the microscope.
You could see the different crystals.

Now, in the business, I suppose the
manufacturer said, “Well, this doesn’t amount
to much anyhow, because if it does drop
off, it’ll be buried.” But if you’re selling the
protection factor of this thing

Oh, I have so many interesting things that
I just did on the side, like what percentage
of the resultant ash in the cremains is wood
ash. (I have told a little of this before.) And
I wrote to different crematories to find out.
Now, that shows how curious I am. I just
figured somebody’s going to ask me that, and
I’m going to have to say, “I don’t know,” or say,
“None,” or, “Maybe some.” So I wrote to these
cremationists. And they practically all came
back and said, “No. None of it is. Everything
is reduced down.”

But [Lawrence] Larry Moore wrote to me,
and he says, “I don’t know. Are you trying to
trip me in this thing?”

I said, “No, I don’t know.” I said, “Will you
cooperate with me?”

“You bet I will.”

So I said, “This’ll involve quite a bit of
work on your part. I’ll take the average casket.
I’ll take a piece out of it, so many cubic inches,
and I’ll know how many of those will be in
this total casket. And I’ll take this and reduce
it down to a white ash. I’ll weigh it ahead of
time in one of those.” That’s your laboratory
again, see.

And I did that with different hardwoods,
cedar, redwood, mahogany, pine, and firs. So
I had a pretty good setup on that particular
thing. Then I realized that Larry had to get
in this picture. We’d have to have the age
of the individual, and such things as that,
and his occupation, male or female, and
so on, and he’d have to weigh the ash, and
then I’d figure this in different-sized caskets,
too. Now, when we weighed the ash, I had
proved that there is resultant ash from the
wood, you see? The metal melts down and
goes into the little crevices and you sweep it
out. And on the basis of that, we arrived at
a pretty good figure. As I remember it—and
I do remember—less than a tenth of one
percent. So that was something for Larry
to work out.

But you know the first person to ask me
that? Dr. Hartman. Now, as I told you, his
daughter was drowned in Pyramid Lake when
he was loaned to the government during the
war, and he couldn’t come out, and he directed
we cremate her, and such things as that, and
hold the ashes ’til he came out. He wrote me
a lovely letter, and when he came out, I sent
him down to the Chapel of the Chimes and
told him to tell Larry what he wanted. And I
had briefed Larry to begin with. And he said
to Larry, “How much of this resultant ash is
wood ash?”

And Larry began to smile; he says, “Less
than a tenth of one percent. But,” he said, “I
didn’t determine that. Si Ross did at Reno.”

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Silas E. Ross

Hartman said to Larry, “I would expect
that of him.”

In the early days, after cremation, there
would be large bones that would be more
calcareous than others. And when the
cremation was complete, they would reduce
these bones by pressure to ash. And the
resulting ash was quite small. People ware
scattering the cremains. But the crematories
decided not to crush the larger bones, holding
that some of the people found out about it and
were going to bring suit because they didn’t
treat the resultant ash reverently. I’ll tell you
an experience I had in connection with that
later.

Another reason why I’ve been interested
in the funeral business is because of the extent
of the whole industry. It’s so extensive, but it
finally all comes together here [in the funeral
parlor]. I think that when I’m waiting on a
family that I should know and be able to give
them reliable information if they ask for it. Or
if I don’t know, to say, “Oh, I’m not sure, but
I’ll try to find out.”

Now, there’s one thing I would never give
out, not even to a family—the cause of death.
I would tell them that that’s a matter between
the family and the doctor, or go to a bureau of
vital statistics, if they can prove their interest.
But the reason I didn’t like that is the fact that
people are naturally curious and say, “I heard
this, I heard that, I heard the other thing,” or,
“Mr. Ross said this or said that or said the
other thing.” And, “Oh, I heard she died of
dope. Is it so?” Now, to me, that information
is sacred.

Cemeteries, Mausoleums,

COLUMBARIUMS

Now, in our state, as I said before, we
carried out the early New England plan,
and it carried through the revolution, then

the big urban areas sprung up and a lot of
the moral ideas and the like of that were
slipping, and things changed. Then after that,
when they were making friends with the
Indians and expanding, they had, to begin
with, little communities where they had
community worship and community living,
and they worked in the fields and the forests
and the like of that, adjacent to the urban,
brought them together, and that was the little
country churchyard, or, rather, the cemetery.
If they had a large church, it would be the
churchyard. And then, in ’49, things opened
up to come West, and I think I have said that
we could follow some of that pioneer stuff all
the way. And then, beginning with the Civil
War, there was a great change.

In particular, in ’49 and again following
the Civil War, there was a great migration
into this area. There were still these little
communities, rural communities, and
so forth, and they had these places, but
particularly in New England. The families
were buried in these little burial plots for
generations. Calvin Coolidge is buried in
Ludlow, Vermont, a little cemetery outside
was theirs. It’s terraced, on the hill there.

Well, out of that, here in the West was a
subdivision. In other words, they went out
and they located a spot to call the cemetery.
There’re not many of them that have any deeds
or anything like that at all. They were just
fenced. Then it was laid out, and families, the
first one to die, if it was a good-sized family,
they would take a plot of ground and fence
it; that was theirs. Then they didn’t have any
chance to bring the water or anything like that
to cultivate anything but sagebrush, but they
would clean it up, and they had monuments,
copings, iron fences, and such things as that.
Right to this day, people from New England
go down to Florida in the wintertime, but if
they die during the winter, they keep them

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225

there until spring opens up so that they can
get home to the old cemetery So we find that
we have these little family plots, and they call
it “home.” So we call it the “home plots.”

Then as we developed these into church
cemeteries and fraternal cemeteries and
public cemeteries, they would take a block
of ground and put copings around it and big
headstones, and that took care of the entire
family.

Now, shortly after the Civil War, a little
bit along in the revolutions, we have the
introduction of the sarcophagi— above¬
ground burial. And that, of course, was
picked up in this state. The first one is in
Eureka. I think I’ve covered all that [about the
German family] in one of my papers. I gave
that in this paper that I gave on the breaking
down ceremony in Las Vegas of the Acacia
Mausoleum. I covered that and the history
of it, and then I covered all of the others,
showing the number here, there, elsewhere.

Well, now, up until ten or fifteen years
ago, we had a trend by wealthy people to
build small family mausoleums that were
three to six crypts, see, some sarcophagus, and
still some others, single sarcophagus. Then
another type—we would call them catacombs
today. But where they would dig down in their
plot and reinforce, concrete the whole thing
and make more crypt spaces on the side, they
covered it with a house with a name on it, and
then the center portion would be covered
with timbers, which you could either remove
in sections, or you could take it, tip it up just
like they used to with the old doors that they
had in front of the stores. They opened up on
the main street and dropped them out. This
would fold back. And then they had these
little crypts on each side. I think there were
eight. Now, we had one like that.

Now, the interesting part of the early
days when I was in here—many of these

cemeteries were located in areas where there
was no water, or anything like that. And once
in a while, you’d find people planting trees
that could get along after they got started,
grow pretty well around the border, see. They
would even carry water to them until they
got them started. Or they would get a shrub,
like an acacia, or something like that that
would grow. Or they would get a rose bush
started. You’ll find that in a lot of these small
cemeteries all over the area.

Now, Then we started in Reno here, in
1870 we had interments in the Glendale area
and in Washoe City, in Huffaker, and such
places as that, and after Sanders Started his
cemetery in 1870, we began to move. Then in
’72, when the Masons and the Odd Fellows got
their cemetery up here on West Fourth Street,
they moved their dead out of the Sanders
cemetery, and also, the dead of Masons and
their families around the valley. The result is
that there are none left in Glendale. Now, this
cemetery that the Odd Fellows and Masons
had had no water there for quite a while. But
the plots were laid out, and first they needed
to be cleaned up. They had a sexton and such
things as that and he lived right there. But later
when they got water, they began to improve,
and families would get together, and they’d
connect with the water main and pay a sexton
an annual maintenance fee. Many of them put
in copings and large monuments to mark this
particular thing, and then on Memorial Day,
they’d all get together and clean it up. But then
when Sanders deeded a part of this ground he
had up here off of Tenth Street to the Knights
of Pythias, another portion he deeded to the
GAR. The Pythians and the GAR improved
theirs with grass. And then that was extended,
and these people who had plots in the Hillside
were sold a conditional deed by Mr. Sanders,
had the water run down there, and the sexton

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would take care of them at the same pay and
so much per month.

Now, that same thing prevailed at the
new cemetery up here on top of the hill they
purchased in 1898. And they had an early
water right. They got rid of the property.
They built a reservoir over the extension of
Seventh Street. The water ran (the water line)
on a diagonal from that to where the Nixon
mausoleum is now and distributed from
there. And then they provided annual care.
Then they would collect so much for that and
help pay the sexton.

When I came into the picture, I found that
there were a lot of errors there. In the first
place, when they laid the cemetery out, it was
beautiful on paper. It was laid out in blocks
of four—four twenty-by-twenty plots, and
a six-foot alley running perpendicular and
crosswise to a street, which meant that every
plot had a street—one street and two alleys
leading to it, see? Well, they had two streets,
one going this way and one the other. And
they provided this care and put in copings,
and they came to be a nuisance. We had
a lot of people talking about (we called it)
perpetual care.

Our firm conceived the idea of starting
one of our own. We purchased a block of
land directly west of the vault and improved
it. We called it the “Rose Plot.” We had in
mind planting roses on it, see. And we started
that, and we had a little centerpiece there
for a tree. We put in a weeping willow. We
had an arrangement with them. We paid for
the ground and then we paid them so much
annually for taking care of the vacant graves.
But as we sold these graves, they would issue
a perpetual care deed for thirty dollars and
deduct that thirty cents, you see, from what
we were paying. But we limited burial in this
to our own clients. The idea of perpetual care
became popular. The trustees finally came to

us—Id been talking about this for years. They
came to us and requested us to sell this spot
back to them. We said, “Sure.” That was a piece
of advertising for our services.

Then I made the suggestion that they
expand. I got them to close every other road—
east, west, north, and south, and throw that
into burial ground. But when you did that,
there was a plot twenty by twenty, without any
egress or ingress, so we planted that as a park.
And I got them the seed ahead of time, and
we waited three years so wed have good sod.
And they established, then, perpetual care.

I got the Masons, finally. I had a dickens
of a time convincing them. But they had
an area in the cemetery where they moved
The unclaimed bodies and so forth from
this old cemetery (they were all lifted; there
was nobody left), but it always grew up with
weeds, and so on, and I told them, I said, “You
could plant this, and it would cost you less to
just keep it clipped, because water sprinkles
over it anyhow, than it would to clean it up
twice a year.”

I didn’t get anywhere, so I connived with
the sexton, and I paid him a little bit extra to
smooth off that particular area and bring it
up to grade. And after the first snowstorm—
it was wet—I bought the seed, clover and
blue grass, and sprinkled it there. Of course,
There was more snow, and The next spring,
This came up, beautifully. And they saw
that I was right, So then they adopted the
perpetual care idea for the whole cemetery.
The result is that there isn’t a square foot of
ground that has been sold or assigned that
doesn’t have a dollar per square foot set aside
for its maintenance. Now, they did that by
charging a little extra for the graves as they
sold them and put this additional charge into
the endowed care fund to take care of those
families that are gone and have members of
their family there.

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227

Then I showed them where they were
having trouble with their copings because
they weren’t properly set (they were poor
grade), and also, their big monuments, and
these things were outlawed from there right
from the very beginning. The side issue to
the thing is this: there were two monument
workers here. One of them was a Mason;
the other was an Odd Fellow, and they got
together and got the trustees to give them
carte blanche and they’d take care of the
cemetery. And they sold a lot of inferior
material up there. Now, the result is that over
the years they got rid of all those copings. Any
monument that was well set is in good shape.
If it tips over, or anything like that, then it
has to be laid flat. Then they finally changed
their rules, and the only marker that you have
on it is a grass marker. They make them, for
instance, on the Masonic end, bronze, because
the stone markers are the little thin ones,
and they’re set on concrete and not doweled.
The Masonic, these markers, particularly the
bronze, have these anchors. And they pour
this thing big enough so to put these things
and work it down, and then they have a three-
inch molding all the way around on each side.
They do the same thing with the stone. They
let you use stone if you’ve used it before. That’s
what they call the lawn cemetery. And that’s
what we have today.

As a matter of fact, I’ll tell you about the
first two trees that were planted there. I paid for
them. And I planted the first parks. I had the
advice of Joe Lintz and Lehenbauer from the
University. And practically every evergreen
that we had up there is Si Ross’s evergreen.
I got donations from the University; we got
all these pine trees because I had done the
soil work for Peter Frandsen when he was
experimenting, trying to grow pine trees
down here. He proved his point, so he had a
lot of those things down there, and he turned

the sheep in, and they ate off all the lower
limbs. But they wanted to get rid of them.
They’d give them away, so that’s how we got
them. But the two beautiful spruce that are
in the section when you go to the vault and
go this way, towards the south—you’ll see
two beautiful large spruces. I planted them
in front of Ross plots.

Then I planted the one to show—well, I
thought I was getting the Scotch pine for the
center. But irrigation didn’t go out there. Then
I had planted in there shrubs like forsythia,
and then some roses, then put on each corner
a small spruce, having in mind, as these things
grew up, you’d take out the metal. Well, that
small spruce didn’t work out, so I planted
another one with this hedge-type cedar; a lot
of those are still there. This last winter a lot of
branches and some trees blew down up there
with the wind we had, We have a beautiful
spot up there, though.

That grew until today, they don’t sell
anything up there now unless it is under
endowed care, with the exception of a small
space that’s set up for the indigent dead. That’s
kept clean. Oh, also, the law is such that this
endowed care or perpetual care money had
to be invested in government, state, county,
municipal, or school bonds. That was at a low
rate of interest—paid around four percent.

About the time Mr. Roosevelt got to
going good around here, things began to
change—the interest rate dropped, and there
had been litigation on the term “perpetual
care” somewhere along the line, having
been adjudged by a court of some kind that
you couldn’t guarantee perpetual care; that
meant forever. They changed the law to call it
“endowed care.” That endowed care provides
that they will keep it in lawn and such things
as that, and keep it clipped as long as it’s
humanly possible. But if something should
come up that they couldn’t provide it, the

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Silas E. Ross

lawn and so forth, the trustees would have
to maintain it in some suitable way. In other
words, they could put rock on it and keep it
clean, or they could cover it with concrete—
there’s a lot of little things that they could do.

An interesting sidelight on that is this: that
when they discovered that these copings were
irregular, that is, contrary to their rules and
regulations, and some of them were so poorly
set, they took these copings up and leveled
this thing off and lowered the stone with a
good base, and they used these copings as
curbs. There are a lot of them up there.

Now, I want to say this. There are still
cemeteries, rural cemeteries in this area and
in other areas in the state, that are on private
property. I’ll cite some just for reference:
Bower’s mansion, the Twaddle ranch, the
Holcomb ranch (it’s still there), and there’s
one on the Clift ranch, the one at Glenbrook,
Washoe City. As far as we know or can find
out, this was just laid out there on that road. I
had an inquiry the other day to know if people
who were in the Washoe— or if most people
could bury in that cemetery. Of course, all I
could do was to say, “If he’d established that,
I don’t think there’ll be any objection.” See?
But there are a lot of important people buried
there. I had the same question arise when
Mr. Fleischmann died. He had expressed,
to begin with, a desire to have his cremains
buried in the cemetery at Glenbrook. But
that was on private property, and they had to
get the consent of the Hobarts. But after they
thought it over, they decided, “Ho, it was on
private property,” and they buried it up here
in the Masonic.

Now, then, in this side, in Washoe County,
there is the private cemetery of the Callahan
ranch; one at Galena—and that’s where a lot
of the Chinamen and those were buried in
the early days of woodcutting. We find that
true in nearly all of the Nevada mining camps.

Genoa is one, Dayton, and on the foothills
along Carson Valley,: you begin Genoa, going
down that way, I guess, Fredericksberg, and so
on, and even over the line into Markleeville.
Then we can come up—that’s in Carson Valley.
Now, Wadsworth is one that’s never been
planted. Silver City, Gold Hill, Crystal Peak,
and Dayton, Tuscarora, and the abandoned
mining camps like Hamilton. Well, we have
those all over the state. We buried people in
all of them.

But we do have difficulties because of not
enough people in there to open and close the
graves. We usually have to depend on some of
the farmers. Now, you take Gardnerville and
that area. By golly, they have a sexton working
out of Carson. But seven times out of ten, the
farmers get busy, go over and dig it and then
go back and change their clothes and attend
the funeral and then come back and’ fill the
graves. But we do have this: we give them the
dimensions and we always have to go early
and send our men out there to trim the grave.
Sometimes it isn’t level, and sometimes it isn’t
perpendicular, and so on, to make the setup.

But I don’t know, I love to go to those
old places and just look around. There was a
man in there this morning. He asked me if I
would go up to Virginia City with him and
help him try to straighten out the divisions
that they had in that cemetery. You see, in the
early days, the first cemeteries they had there,
the Jewish and the Catholic cemetery, was in
that canyon northeast of the present cemetery
and that area where Julia Bulette is, the public
cemetery. Finally, they got together and they
got this area where the present cemetery
is, and they divided it up into the Masonic
section, Odd Fellows section, K of P section,
and then, every one of the nationalities up
there had a charitable organization, and the
Roman Catholic section, and then a public
section.

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229

But you see, they had it mapped out,
but the maps are lost. Now, as far as the
Masonic end is concerned, there’s an old
gentleman that was a hoist engineer for years,
a very prominent Mason. When the bottom
dropped out, he kept that up, the records
and everything like that. When he died, his
daughter handled them. And she got ill and
she turned it over to the secretary of the lodge
up there. And he died. They’ve lost all of that.
But the only place that I could be of any help
to them at all is that I’ll recognize a name.
Then I might be able to look up that one. So
time and time again, we’ve gone up and they
say, “Put it here.” And we’ll go down and find a
grave. And, of course, it’s tough up there. You
have to “shoot” the grave because of rock and
such things as that.

Now, it’s interesting to note that in the
early days, if people took a plot that’s, say, four,
six, or ten graves, or whatever it might be, they
erected a monument in the center and put
names on there. But at the foot or head, they
had what they call the footstone or headstone,
usually a granite marker. You might also note
that in the original plan of Mountain View
cemetery, they did not permit copings and
such things as that. And, of course, they’ve
passed down from generation to generation.
They began to put them in (I told you about
the two men that worked up there), and all
at once, I showed them the thing in the book
that they were going to turn out and burn—
and burn was their rules on that. So they’ve
taken them out.

Now, also, we find that among these that
I just mentioned, they have what they call the
“county cemeteries.” But it’s different than the
county cemetery we have here. In other words,
the county helped them to get going, but it’s
tough to find a deed.

I was approached not long ago by Clark
Guild, Jr. He was working with Fran Breen,

the attorney. They’ve all buried at Dayton
for the reason Breen buried his mother and
other ancestors there. He had an idea that he
might be Able to get something out of the
Fleischmann estate to improve it and make it
worthwhile. Of course, the first thing they had
to do was to find out who owned the Dayton
cemetery. I was called in on it and I said,
“Well, your county records should show that.”

Guild said, “They all burned up.”

“Well,” I said, “certainly, in Carson City
somewhere, they have the maps of the area.
You might be able to locate it that way.

But I think, very definitely, that they just
selected this spot, because I have a record to
show that two men laid that out. One of them
afterwards became state treasurer (he’s buried
up here), and he ran the livery stable, and so
on. You’ve got that name, L. L. Crockett. He
was state treasurer from ’79 to ’82. But he ran a
livery barn and a hay yard in Dayton, and such
things as that, he and this fellow got together
and they laid out a cemetery, and there was a
death. Crockett didn’t have any sexton, so he
went up and dug a grave. Later, he liquidated
there and came to Reno, settled here, and
then he was afterwards elected state treasurer.
He has quite an interesting background, rut
anyhow, I told him [Guild] that, and I said,
“I don’t think you’ll find anything unless you
find this map. It was probably taken up that
way. And you might be able to find some
maps of the farms in that area, too, you see,
because it goes up the hill that way. And you
might find some records of it.” But Clark has
never got any. The interesting part of it is that,
with a few exceptions, there’s no title to any
cemetery we’ve got here in Nevada, except in
the modern time.

Now, beyond that, even in the early days,
and as early as 1870, some of the fraternities’
cemeteries were laid out by private people,
like Mr. [will] Sanders laid out the first one

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Silas E. Ross

here in Reno, called it Hillside cemetery. Now,
off of this cemetery, as I have said, he sold a
piece to Knights of Pythias, another piece to
the GAR, and another piece to the Jewish
people. Straight-out deeds were given with
that. But in the other section of the cemetery
that was operated by Mr. Sanders, he issued no
deeds. He issued no straight-out deeds. They
were deeded for burial purposes as long as it
was used as such. But in the event that they
moved the bodies out, the land reverted to Mr.
Sanders, his heirs or assigns. That is one of the
little problems they have now in connection
with any possibility of moving that Hillside
cemetery. Now, Mr. Sanders kept records,
and I have that book that was given to me of
those burials. Be left there and moved down
to the coast [to San Francisco]. They were all
dead with the exception of Johnny, and he
was a cripple. He remained here for a while,
He used to drive all the funerals for Hymers.
He placed this book in the county recorders
office. He came back some time afterwards
and he found that it wasn’t being utilized or
recognized very often, so he took it out and
he gave it to me. So that means that I have
records from 1870.

Now, at the time that he laid out this
cemetery, many of the people had burials on
farms and remote places like Glendale and
some out around Huffaker—there were some
buried on the farms around there. Of course,
there were quite a number of the Holcomb
relatives, which begin with the Lyles, buried
there. We had to remove some from there and
they were placed in the Hillside cemetery.

Now, in 1872, the Masons and Odd
Fellows got together and bought about three
acres of land up where the [Reno Press Brick]
brickyard was. They moved any of their dead
from Hillside to bury in that cemetery. And
shortly after that, a man (I don’t know who he
was, but I kind of think it was Johnny Hayes,

but I’m not sure) gave the Catholic church
here the ground for old St. Thomas cemetery.
The Roman Catholic people moved their dead
out of it and into their new cemetery. Now,
the Roman Catholics didn’t give a deed to
anybody, either.

Now, when the Odd Fellows and Masons
purchased this ground in 1898, which is now
called Mountain View, and started moving
in 1900, they did not issue any deeds to the
fraternal part. They continue that to this
day. They assign certain grave space to every
member for himself and his dependent family,
providing he maintained it. And that is true
today.

Now, since the—well, beginning with
the discontinuance of the lumber industry
up around Verdi, many of the Verdi people
had their dead moved from Crystal Peak
cemetery to the Masonic and Odd Fellows, or
public section, and some to the St. Thomas.
Right along with that, as far as I’ve been able
to find, the ground that is called Crystal Peak
cemetery was never deeded to anybody. But
it’s a part of the piece of ground that’s owned
in there by a private individual. Yet it was laid
out just as the others were.

Now, during that period from—well, from
the early days on through until fairly recently,
they did have above-ground burial, but they
were private. There were tombs built, small
mausoleums and sarcophagi in the different
cemeteries. And the board of health, plus
the engineering department of the board of
health, could set up specifications. Among
the specifications that they set up [was]
that fifteen percent of the cost of this thing
would have to be set aside in endowed care
to maintain them.

Now, most of the new ground up there [at
Mountain View], and also in the new Mater
Dolorosa cemetery, will not let you erect a
tombstone unless you have a pretty good-

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231

sized piece of ground. And then it can only be
a small one. It must be a grass marker, either
bronze or stone. Some have used marble, but
the trustees frown on it because rain (the
marble is flat) cracks and breaks.

So during this time, with that observation,
I’ve seen the thing grow from unkept and
carelessly kept burial spots to improved spots
under care, and we’ve seen mausoleums go
up for the public. If you remember in that
address that I gave at the breaking of the
ground, I called attention to the fact that there
was a so-called miniature catacomb built in
Mountain View cemetery. The head of the
family purchased the plot. Then he went down
and he cemented the plot down to a depth
of seven feet on each side on the floor. And
then he built crypts on each side, one on top
of the other, and erected a building over it.
And the center portion, as you entered, had
doors on it, see. They could move back and
lower the casket and put it in on the side. That
was declared unsanitary, and so on, as some
of the others.

Now, in addition to going into the
community mausoleum, we now have
crematoriums, and we have columbariums
and the combination columbarium and
mausoleum together, and ground space in
the cemetery proper for the urn garden so
that they may be buried there, and then we
also have outside niches in some of the walls
around the mausoleum, such as you see
when you go in the gates up there. Now, in
the Masonic end, they have inside niches and
outside niches, and it is arranged like this:

Suppose this is the mausoleum, and this
is the entrance here (1). They’ll have crypts,
like this (2), clear up to the top; across this
end they will have, clear up to the top, niches
(3), with a face that looks like a square of
four small niches in that—it’s a marble finish
on them and put on the inscription, and

then they also have in there a bronze-glass
combination so that you can have an outside.
And then on the outside, around here (4),
this end, and along here, on both sides up a
certain distance, they have more niches. Now,
then, they also have—this being the inside
(1), on the outside (5), they do have crypts
that come through this way, and they— but
this is overlaid, you see, having in mind if
they wanted to expand, they could go on
the other, outside, and add on to this here
(6) and leave some space in there. And these
sets of crypts will be on the inside then. It
is something different and is being used a
lot in order to save space, maintenance, and
things like that.

A few years ago, they passed a law
forbidding the scattering of cremains. The law
requires them to be placed in a cemetery—
that is, in the cemetery to be buried—the
cemetery, columbarium, or mausoleum. If
the thing doesn’t have any teeth, the result is
that these cremains are—for instance, down
in California, they’d be shipped in “for so and
so, in care of Ross-Burke (or the other place),”
and this person is to pick them up. Now,
that, we’ll say, is for burial in the cemetery
at Brunswick, or some place like that. Now,
when we turn the cremains over to them,
we take a receipt for them, and they use the
same permit and go out and supposedly bury
them and return the permit. Whether they
do or not, I don’t know. But I do know a lot
of them were scattered. I know a lot of them
were put in these old cemeteries like the one
at Empire— you know, as you go towards
Virginia City, there’s a little cemetery up
on top of the hill, just before you come to
Brunswick Canyon. Well, we buried people
in there just recently. It isn’t maintained and
they’ve excavated right up the one side for a
big sand pit, and they’ve got the garbage pit
on the other side that they maintain.

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Silas E. Ross

Now, we’ve here experienced two or three
unfortunate things in connection with this
scattering. I’ll mention them and not mention
the names. One case, the cremains were
shipped to us, and they were to be scattered
by the widow along the Orr Ditch up at the
University. Her husband worked in that area so
long. She came down one evening to visit, and
the night janitor was Maury Lewis and his wife,
who also worked on the campus. I had called
her and told her that the cremains had arrived.
So when she came down to visit, she asked the
Lewises if they were there. They looked at the
record and said, “yes”. She said she’d like to see
them. So they brought up the carton all tied.
She looked it over. Then she wanted them to
open it. Arid they, very unwisely, did that.
They had no right, no authority. But when she
opened it, she found that the cremains were
bones like this [two inches in diameter]. She
fainted. When she came to, she told them,
she said, “You tell Mr. Ross that I don’t want
them to scatter them. I want to make other
arrangements.” And she did.

Of course, naturally, I wanted to know
why, and she said, “Well, with the squirrels
and the like of that running around there, I
don’t want them to pick up these bones and
run around with them.”

Now, you see, most people felt that the
human body is cremated and burned right
up until you just have ashes. And that is not
true. The large bones that are calcareous and
the like of that, they don’t reduce them clear
down. Now, in the early days, to minimize
the size of these, they had a sort of a pressure
thing, and they’d break them down so they
were small. But they stopped doing that.

Then we had found some of them that
were supposed to’ve been thrown in Lake
Tahoe. They didn’t have them in urns and
they had been washed up on the shore. One
happened just recently, not with us. Then

we found where they’re placed in these
abandoned cemeteries. They didn’t dig the
hole very deeply, and squirrels and the like of
that running around would pull one of these
things out, and we’d have an urn exposed.
Sometimes when they were taken out into the
forest, you would find them that way. I don’t
think they do that any more, but they did do it.
I know very well that a lot of these California
people do get these cremains and they take
them. As far as we know, they’re going to be
put in a cemetery somewhere. Whether they
do or not, I don’t know.

Now, cremains sometimes are placed
in the walls of public buildings where the
individual has been connected with it. The
only one that I know anything about is Dr. and
Mrs. Church, [that story about the ashes being
placed in the cornerstone of the Church Fine
Arts building]. We don’t need to go further on.
But I was called from Chicago on that thing.

The chapter national of SAE, there was a
young German who came over, and he arrived
in Chicago, and he was looking for work, and
he got his job at the SAE headquarters there
in Evanston. They found out he was quite
an artist. So they built a tower. He painted
that interior, showing the history of fraternal
initiation—a beautiful thing. Then he did
other art work in there. He remained single
and he continued to work there until he died.
He asked ahead of time if his cremains could
be placed somewhere in a wall of the temple.
I was called into it, I think, in two ways. One
was that the people knew that I was interested
in that. They also knew that when I was
president, I started a lot of research after two
years and I might know. So I told them very
definitely, if it was approved by the Supreme
Council and also approved by the state and
city boards of health, there’s no reason in the
world why the ashes couldn’t be put in the wall
with a plaque over them. And they’re there.

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233

Now, I know of one in Albany, of a
crematorium that sits on top of a hill. It has
beautiful grounds and everything like that,
and it also has burial areas. They don’t have
a columbarium, but the cremains are placed
all around the edges of the rows, each of
them marked, the little spaces. It’s pretty good
looking; it’s pretty nice.

Local and Ethnic Funeral Customs

Now, you wanted me to say something
on ethnic funerals or ethnic services. I’d have
to divide those into probably the Irish, the
Italian, the Greek, and the Jew, and then add
to that the nationality groups that they used
to have in the state. For instance, if there were
a bunch of Scotsmen, they had the Scots’
benevolent society. And they pulled together
to take care of each other, particularly at the
time of death, and to carry out certain burial
customs that were typical of their ritual.
Many times, there wouldn’t be any particular
minister or priest of their denomination. Now,
they would use perhaps the popular person
at that particular time.

Then, for instance, if you go over to
the Gold Hill cemetery and read those
monuments, you will see that many of those
people came from Nova Scotia. You would
find on the monuments, or grave markers,
whichever you call it, on many of those
groups, you’d read of a Swede or a Scotsman
or of an Irishman, or some such nationality.
You’ll find that these different nationality
groups, each had these beneficial groups
that provided for social contacts among
themselves and provided for the care of the
sick and injured, or at the time of death, help
with the funeral arrangements. And should
the widow not have enough money, they’d
take care of it. Nearly all of those early markers
had the nativity on them.

Now, I found this in reading the old papers
and talking to the old-timers: if one of this
nationality group had a church connection
or wanted a minister to say prayers and such
things as that, they all pitched in to help. But
they always concluded the service with their
own little social service at the cemetery.

Another interesting observation: when
I first came in touch with it, or, rather, had
it impressed upon my mind, [it] was quite a
number of years ago when Reno No. 13 was
celebrating their seventy-fifth anniversary.
The lodge decided to make something out
of it, and they appointed three people, each
to take twenty-five years of the minutes and
write down the highlights of that particular
time. Then I was to be the coordinator and
narrator. Now, I didn’t know anything about
it ’til I got back from [a vacation at] the Lake,
but they got busy on it and handed me their
script. I read the script, and, you know, I
couldn’t find a key to go through that whole
thing. The interest of the individual was on a
particular thing and he emphasized it—this
one one way, and this one the other way. So
(Mrs. Ross and the children were at the Lake)
I asked for a copy of the book of minutes. And
I read them all, right from the beginning.

There, I found that it was the custom,
if the deceased or the family had requested
a Masonic service, they would notify the
Master and he would get his officers together
that evening and announce the death of the
brother and open the lodge for a particular
ceremony to conduct the funeral on. Then
he’d recess it. And then they would wait until
the family decided what they wanted. And
in those early days, many people went to the
church or the home, see? If it was from the
church in particular, or if it was from the
home, the Masons would convene and go to
the church or home and attend that service.
Now, following that service, they would take

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over and go to the cemetery and have their
service, which would make it quite long. But
there was a combination, and also, a very
definite cooperation.

So That got me to going into other things.
I talked to the Odd Fellows, the old-timers
there, the old K of P’s. And, of course, the
Elks was a younger organization, but even in
its early days, the same thing prevailed. Now,
when they knew when this service was to be,
they would call this recessed meeting together
again in order and conduct it, and then write
up the minutes, showing what happened in
the meantime.

And one case in particular that I remember
reading, this man belonged to the Knights
Templar in Virginia City. He belonged to
the Royal Arch chapter in Carson, and he
belonged to the blue lodge here in Reno. And
the family wanted a blue lodge service with
an escort from the Commandery and from
the Royal Arch chapter. Each of these groups
had to be notified and given time to organize
and set a date.

Now, it’s a very interesting thing. This
custom prevailed for a long period of time,
and about to the time that I was Master of
this lodge in 1912. However, funeral services
in the church or in the home have been
minimized. And I think one of the reasons for
that is that many of the services for fraternal
groups were for “sojourner” members, people
who belonged outside of their state, or in
this state, who had no church affiliation and
wanted a complete service. So we’d hold it in
the Masonic Temple. But the fraternal service
in the hall was very, very short. Then we would
go to the cemetery for the committal service,
which was long.

When I was Master, I decided to change
the old custom, which was a suggested form
for a funeral service in the code. I further read
the customs used in other jurisdictions which

provided for more of the service in the lodge
room or chapel and a shorter committal at the
cemetery. It took me a long time to convince
members who were used to the old service
that this was more acceptable to the family
than the former.

The Grand Master asked me about that
one day, and I gave him my reasons for the
change. He says, “You’ve got a service, and
that’s what you use.”

I said, “Sir, I don’t want to disagree with
you, but the service you refer to is merely
a suggested service. The Grand Lodge has
adopted the Simmons Monitor as the monitor
for this Grand Lodge. The service that I
propose follows the Simmons Monitor with
certain adjustments to meet the conditions as
they exist here in Reno.”

This service contemplates more of the
ritual in the lodge room and a shorter period
of time at the cemetery. It’s mostly scripture
reading and prayer. The scripture that you
read depends a lot upon the denomination.
If it happened to be a Jewish brother, you
wouldn’t mention Christ, and you would use
scripture adaptable to their religious custom;

We finally had a Grand Lodge committee
appointed to redraft it. Mr. Samuel Unsworth
was chairman of the committee, and he never
called it together, but he did come in with
a report to the next session of the Grand
Lodge, and it was practically an Episcopal
service, and they wouldn’t accept it. So
they reappointed a committee and made
me chairman. By golly, I wrote all over the
country and got these services and made
a digest of them. The oldest ritualist group
we had in town was Episcopalian, and I
knew that they had forms and reasons. I sat
down and asked them to explain their burial
service, what it meant to them. Then after I
did that, I compiled the stuff, got it together,
and selected passages with all of this. Then

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I had Bayard Jones edit it. He was a liturgist
in the Episcopal church. He was a dean over
here at one time. They adopted the first part
of it but not the second—that is, the cemetery
part. I had a short form, but two or three
years afterwards, I got it through, with the
assistance of the Reverend Mr. Hersey. The
proposed committal service was adopted.
That’s what we had observed.

We also observed that in the fraternal
groups, and in even the nationality groups,
they had some little thing that they as a group
did. They’d drop evergreen at a certain time,
or a flower, or something like that. It was
symbolic, with a little explanation of it, you
see. I don’t know of any of them that didn’t
have something like that. Now, of course, I
don’t know all of them, but I notice it. Even in
these ethnic services, they have those things.
In the Jewish ceremony at the cemetery,
everybody, as he leaves, picks up a sprig of
grass and tosses it over his shoulder. Some of
them, even the early English and Scotch, and
the like of that, would deposit something, like
an evergreen, a piece of palm, or grass—some
little thing like that which was a part of the
ritual. And right to this day, people that go to
the cemetery, or if they’re having the entire
service at the cemetery, these Masons want
to know when they can drop their evergreen.

Most of what I am going to give you are
the things that were told to me by Mr. Sol
Jacobs, one of the early businessmen in the
city of Reno. He was highly regarded by the
Jewish people all over the state. He told me of
a lot of the customs. He said that the Jewish
people believed in reverence for the dead and
simplicity in order to do away with inequality
but to carry out the equality between the rich
and the poor.

He also said that they believed in rapid
burial. They didn’t believe in cremation,
they didn’t believe in embalming, they didn’t

believe in incisions of the body, or bloodletting.
But they did believe in burial societies. Now,
those were in the earliest days. It was he who
told me that in those early days, the Jewish
people were out in the country (and he used
the word “peasant.” I don’t think he meant
“peasant,” but he meant the uneducated and the
poor and those that were out in the country).
They lived in huts—no floors, or anything like
that, but they did have partitions. The result
was that they just had earth floors. He said
that they had a ceremony or a ritual that they
carried out over a period of time, that the body
was finally taken from the bed and placed on
crossed sticks, and such things as that, on the
floor, in order to give the body a chance to cool
off. He also said that they used burning tapers
because the body would be alone in the room,
or whatever it might be, with the exception
of the poorest member of the congregation,
and the oldest member would stay there as a
watchman, see? Now, this was the way he put
it. They usually only have two candles, one at
the head and one at the foot. But in the early
days, when they were laid out in these hovels,
they had two at the head and one at the foot.
The two at the head, one was in back of one
shoulder and one of the other. And I asked
him why. “Well,” he said, “rats and the like of
that would come in, and if they would see these
lights, they would stay away.” The shoulders
were broader, don’t you see, than the feet.

He also told me that you never touched
the body excepting when necessary. The men
bathed and dressed the men; the women
bathed and dressed the women. He said, “In
this country, and in Nevada in particular, we
don’t permit any vehicles within the cemetery.
We have small driveways, maybe ten to fifteen
feet, and then we have walks around. And we
carry (the casket] in the cemetery.” He said,
“From the earliest times, they used to fence
their cemeteries, and they’d have gates.”

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Silas E. Ross

He also said that if you attend a Jewish
funeral service, you’ll find some of the Jewish
people are not orthodox, or they haven’t lived
up to their religion. The Jew that hadn’t been
circumcised couldn’t come in unless he had
paid attention to his religion. He said, “We
also have this practice of stopping three times
en route to the grave. The bearers would carry
it so far and then they’d let it down on the
sawhorses, or something like that (we always
had a church truck, see), then they’d say some
prayers there. Then the third time that they
stopped was when it was placed over the
grave. And they had a ceremony each time. He
said, “we carry out the fraying of the garment
worn by the closest of kin.” And I’ll cover that
a little bit later.’

Now, he said in the old country, they
prepared these bodies in the homes and
such places as that. But he said here, if the
home was large enough, we’d do it, and we
bathe them there. “But,” he said, “we’ve sort
of grown out of it recently, and the body will
have to remain in the home a certain period
of time for the cooling process and such
things as that.” Then we have it picked up and
taken to the mortuary to have it embalmed,
sterilized, and then the Jewish people will
come in and take care of the bathing and
putting on the shrouds and so on. Now, that
was the early information that he gave me.

There’s one other thing he said. We didn’t
have a synagogue here, but we’ve got one
now. He said they never planned on taking
anybody up to the worshipping part because
of the stairway, so we don’t go there unless it
be, maybe, a rabbi or some of the influential
members of the church.

He said that in the Jewish areas, they had
these little societies and they had certain
responsibilities. I’m going to try to give you
some of those. Among their duties: now,
representatives had the care of a dying person.

They had to be there while the person was
dying and to observe certain things and to
take care of the family. Then they also had
the care of the dead body to do some of the
things I just told you about. Now, then, they
were the ones that provided for the tearing of
this rent in the clothing. They also supervised
the conduct of the next of kin. In other words,
they saw to it that the chief mourner had all
the attention and the subordinate mourner
had less, with no interference. But they had
some sort of a purification ceremony, and it’s
connected with the shroud that I will mention
later. That is, they had to be sure the linen
was pressed and clean, and as it was put on,
things were done that way, and the body was
properly fixed.

Then this same little group, see, kind
of like a social group, they removed the
body, prepared for the funeral, and then the
supervisor arranged the order of the funeral
service and the interment. Now, when I say
the order, I mean the time and place. If they
needed cars or anything like that, those
things were all taken care of by this group.
Then beyond that, they were concerned with
family behavior. The men didn’t shave or cut
their hair or anything like that. They wore
little caps around here, on their heads. Today,
whenever you attend a Jewish service, they get
as many as possible to wear that little cap. And
they bury them in that. That’s over a period
of time. Now, as I remember that, as he told
it to me, what I’ve said is all the preliminaries.
Now, when the service was over, then there
was another seven-day layout which comes
in, when they came in on that.

Now, they have what is called a meal
of condolence. That’s either immediately
following the service., or it’s held the next day
for the family. And there, they have prayers,
and such things as that. Now, they had these
seven days of mourning [shibah]. According

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to their custom, the mourners’ first meal on
the first day of mourning was called the meal
of condolence. The neighbors supply the food
for the first meal. The mourning rites, they
call -it, begin and must be observed when the
grave is filled. During the first three days of
these mourning rites, no labor is permitted,
even to the poor. On the fourth, to secure
food, or necessary food, or necessary things,
the poor man worked privately in his home.
And the interesting [thing] that he told me
[was] that that did not apply to the wives.
Now, she may cook, bake, such things as that,
see? They forbid laughter and rejoicing—they
were avoided. Prayer services were held twice
daily at the mourners’ home, and there was
less intense mourning for the next twenty
days. There’s a bathing proposition in here,
too. That’s right. Bathing except for health
purposes was not permitted for that seven-
day period. Now, then, the rest of the twenty
days, there was less intense mourning. But
during the whole of the mourning period, the
griever must not cut his hair or train his beard.
I’ve covered the seven days of mourning, and
within the thirty days, and then they have
another ceremony on the twelfth month
following the death of the individual. Now, I
asked our present rabbi what they called that.
He said it’s kaddish and yahrserl, and he said
it means the death anniversary.

Now, in addition to that, this group had
charge of the information of the papers. Any
timely news, or anything like that, they would
get it to the papers. Any delayed news, they’d
give to it. Now, this same group, as I remember,
sort of took care of the tombstone that was
erected on the graves. That seemed to be really
a part of the ceremony. In other words, there
should be a tombstone over every grave, or a
large tombstone with enough places on it to
inscribe the names of the people. If the family
wanted that, they’d go to this same group that I

was telling you about, and [this group] would
take over the responsibility of getting plans
and specifications, and such things as that.
And when it’s completed and approved by
the people, they have an unveiling ceremony.

Now, here’s another thing that Mr. Jacobs
told me. I noticed that they had their little
cemetery fenced with good, substantial
fencing. I noticed they only had one gate into
it, and that was the one in front. I said, “Now,
you’re the first ones to do that here.”

He said, “We do that in order to protect
our dead.” He said, “We usually like to have it
high up, and we may not be able to maintain it
with grass or anything like that, but we must
keep it clean.” And they did that.

Well, now, this memorial service—that
takes care of it. It’s usually done on the first
anniversary. He said it wasn’t carried out too
much in this country. He said also that the
American Jew (and by that I mean the Jewish
people that are born in America of Jewish
parentage) didn’t live up to that old orthodox
stuff. But if the young people that were born
and under Jewish influence came here, they
wanted to carry it out. I know the nephews
that he brought over here, the Jacobs brother
and others, they used to belong to this little
social group. They’re the ones that did the
bathing and the clothing, and such things
as that.

Now, that’s the outline for that group. I
asked him if they had physicians everywhere
that could sign certificates. He said, “No,
we have people who, I guess, maybe have
books like we used to have in the country,”
the homeopathic thing. They would do that
treating.

I asked him how they reported the dead,
who determined that. He said if he had one
of those people present, or there was one
available, “We send for him when we think life
is out. And if he comes and pronounces him

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dead, then we go ahead with our ceremony.
But,” he said, “if we can’t get them—.” And
here’s the interesting thing. In those early
days, the people there put a feather in front
of the nostril. And that today is used for a test
to see if there’s any breath there at all. I’ve got
it down here, “A light feather held near the
nostrils would suffice to detect breathing.”
Most Israelites died in the home in early
times, but “burial may be conducted only
through the burial brotherhood.” And that’s
what I mean here.

Now, this is something I read when
I was studying about this. I’ve observed
certain things when I go into a home, and I
was wondering how far it went back. Now,
when death was close, they would throw the
windows wide open. The mirrors are covered.
Prayers are recited. Then the eyes are closed.
In the early times—not today, but the early
times with Mr. Jacobs here, the son, if the dead
had sons, the eyes were closed by him. And
I said the eldest son, the first son. The chin
is bound and the face is covered. And that’s
done by the sons. Now, do you know what I
mean by “bound?” Take a towel around to
close it that way. The body is left on the bed
for an hour. Boy, they have it cut right down!
I’ve read on it; that’s been verified. At the end
of that time, the body is removed to the floor.

And this is interesting to me, because
from time immemorial, there have been
customs of the position of the feet and head.
In the early Jewish custom, the feet pointed
in the direction of the entrance of the room.
Now, as a rule, in burial customs, the head is
to the west, the feet to the east, so they were
looking at the rising sun. And that is the same
in the church, unless it be a high dignitary of
the church, and that’s the same with the Jews,
too. As the body is carried into the church,
the head is toward the altar. Now, when that
is done, the head is raised by placing a small

stone beneath it. The limbs are straightened
and a sheet spread over the body. Here we
come again on the candles—a pair of lighted
candles, one at the head and the other at
the foot. Now, after that is done, the body
should never be left alone. A constant watch
is maintained to detect possible life. Food may
not be eaten in the death chamber.

Now, in all my experience, from the
earliest days, the garment was rent at the
cemetery, over the grave. Now, this I observed,
that they never start to wash a body until
after they have the shroud completed. That’s
when they could come out. In our business,
we used to have a large metal pan, and then
a drain out of it, place the body on that, on
top of the table, so as to keep the water from
splashing all over.

Now, Mr. Jacobs didn’t tell me this, but I
read up on it. I forget the name of the Jewish
rabbi that we had here—oh, he was a brilliant
fellow, but very quiet. He was the one, when
we observed the shibah and such things as
that, he got the Jews to make it for us here and
things like that. He even did the research on
the garments for us that they wore. They had
a specification that shrouds must be made
without hem or knot. They usually consist of
three basic garments: the sheet, breeches, and
an overgarment with a girdle. A white cap is put
upon the head, and white stockings upon the
legs of the dead. The body of a man is wrapped
in his prayer shawl. And instead of the prayer
shawl, an additional garment is placed on a
lady’s body. Old Jewish tradition, according to
Mr. Jacobs, was that the body could never be
moved by one person; he couldn’t pick it up.
They always had to have two. And it had to be
picked up in such a way that the feet and legs
wouldn’t dangle. And that’s pretty tough, unless
the body had been embalmed.

Oh, yes, well, the Jewish women observed
this. In this washing process, they have the

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body covered with a white sheet, and they
work under that, and wrap it around it. Also,
they had a regulation that the body should
never be placed with the face downward—
looking up, I guess.

Now, this came up one time. We had a
Jewish boy, a young fellow by the name of
Abrams. He lived up in that [southwest] part
of town, and he had leukemia, or something
like that. But he was young enough to be a
child. They forbade any kissing of that body.
Mr. Jacobs told me that [it was] according
to the Jewish custom, because they might
carry the germ, whatever it may be, or get it
by contact.

Now, in the old days, Mr. Jacobs said
that the body is carried by relatives, not any
outsider. But, of course, we seldom have ever
had a family that big here. But if a couple of
them outside of the husband were relatives,
they would have them; then the others would
be chosen from the Jewish friends.

I’ve already said that the Jewish tradition
demands utmost simplicity, the democratic
equality thereof. I think I told you this
before—I’d better repeat it. After the body
was lowered in the grave (and they used to
fray it here), and the top put on there, each of
the relatives throws a shovel of dirt on it, the
casket, in the grave. Then they sit back and
the rest of them that are there fill in the grave.

I had an experience one time on that—
had an Irishman open the grave. He was
hiding over behind the tombstone and I was
looking for a shovel, so I went over to get some
and he said, “I’ll take care of that now.”

I said, “You stay here.”

I brought them over so they were handy.
And when the Jews started to shovel the
thing in, the Irishman came over, and he
said, “That’s not your business. This is mine.”
I watched, and he walked away. Among the
orthodox, they won’t leave until that grave

is absolutely filled. That’s why you have to
be careful about rocks and such things as
that. And in this area, I find in looking into
the tradition of this thing, that as the people
leave the cemetery, they pluck some grass
to cast over their shoulders, saying, “He
remembereth that we are dust.”

The Jews have this that is interesting,
and our Rabbi Frankel has instituted it. Then
they get to the cemetery, he processes just
the same as the other. He leads and he reads,
but there’s no stopping unless the people stop
him. Then before he starts to give the service,
he explains what they’re doing so that people
can understand it. Then he reads that. Then
when it’s over, as the family leaves, he leaves
with them and leads them out to their cars.
And he rides, usually, with the first fatly car.
Now, Frankel has sort of cut that out. He said,
“I’d rather stay with you.” They’re cooperative
with other groups. They have no objection at
all to having other services prepared. They can
have their service first, conclude it, and then
go on with the fraternal service. But they’d
like to be there to see the final benediction
and lead the fatly out.

Now, I’m going to this Greek Orthodox
thing a little bit. I think I’ve given you
something on it already. We have the Greek
Orthodox [here], and we also have another
congregation, too, that’s more liberal. Now,
the Greek Orthodox contemplates a short
service at the mortuary. The old-timers then
go to the church, and the speaker is at the
altar, and they have to have the holy icon
there. Now, then, if they have funeral music,
the priest reads it. Now, in their ceremony, as
the people pass by when the service is over,
they kiss this icon. Now, that’s a sacred thing.
I looked that up. It can have a cross on it, or it
can have some other sacred emblem. But the
regular icon has a little message on it that the
Greek understands. Then they use candles,

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Silas E. Ross

one at the head and one at the foot. They
have an incense burner, and then they also
have one of these things that put out smoke,
you know; it’s an incense box, but they swing
it. Then when they get to the cemetery, they
have a certain lowering process. It’s down just
so far, and towards the end, they open the
casket and they make a sign with oil on the
forehead and face. Then they take earth and
put it on there. Then it’s closed, and they do
some—place that oil and such things 6n the
first earth that you put in there.

Wow, we’ll go to the Irish. The traditions
vary a little bit with what part of Ireland that
you may come from, and if you read of the
early burial customs in Ireland, you’ll find that
it varies considerably. But the one thing they
do want is to have this nourishment and get
together and visit with the family and [have]
food. In the early days, the priest used to go
to the home and have a rosary. In the Reno
area, all of the Roman Catholic people and
everybody also wanted funerals on Sunday.
And we had that. Finally, the clergy and the
others got together and said no, because
they’re so busy on Sunday. Of course, the
Irish use the pall in order to not have any
class distinction—it shows that before God
we’re all alike. Then later, after Father Tubman
left, they sent in a new priest here; he was a
monsignor. He decided on the rosaries for
the chapel the night before, and they all have
that now. No more wakes in the mortuary, but
they may have it at the home. I know that in
waiting on these people that if you went to the
home, you had to drink some of their wine
and such things as that, and they always had
food afterwards.

Now, then, they also have a plan in the
church. Instead of sending flowers and the
like of that, they will contribute “mass cards.”
There’ll be a mass card so that they can have
masses said.

Now, the Italians—we don’t have many
of the old old-timers that came here in later
years. The basic thing among them all was
the mass. The customs and the like of that,
before and after and even during the service,
varied, depending upon what part of Italy
they came from. The Italian priest that we
had here told me that the Italians are not
a’ pure nation; they’re a cross. I know that
(during World War II) when they brought
a lot of these prisoners here and they were
out at Herlong, there were deaths, and we
took care of most of them. And the different
customs—the customs there were very much
different among, you’d say, the Italians from
northern Italy, and so on. You could tell them
by the size of the people—of course, they
have changed quite a bit. But if you read the
early funeral customs, you will find that the
mass prevailed. And it was common, but
certain traditions differed with the locality.
Today, they have their rosary and they have
their mass. They have just a short period of
mourning.

But one thing, though, that the Italians,
those from Sparks—they like to have you
drive by the home, even though it’s several
blocks away—it’s a part of bidding farewell—
and to stop there just a few moments. Now,
I had observed the last few years that I was
in the business that the rosaries were well
attended, but the masses were not. I was
curious, found out that many of these people
that died were old-timers, and they were great
friends of the elderly people here. They came
out to the rosary and completed that, but to go
to the church and get to the church and climb
the stairs, and the like of that, was difficult.
That’s another interesting thing that I noticed
on Italian funerals in the earlier times, and
even now. They’d go to church, but the men
don’t go on the inside; they sit out and visit.
Not many of them go in.

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Nevadans, as a group, have one unique
characteristic, and that is this: they will travel
miles and miles and miles to attend a service.
A funeral director will go miles and miles and
miles. And if it’s to be a fraternal service and
he belongs in Tonopah but wants to be buried
in Austin in that lodge, they’ll send the riders
up there to do that particular thing. If it’s to
be out in an abandoned area and the man is
single or has no relatives and he happened to
be a member of the group that wants to be
buried in the Masonic end, they’ll phone the
Masons there in Austin or Eureka and have
them open the grave and conduct it, such
things as that. And the interesting thing, too,
is that people will travel from all over.

Now, the time that Charlie Keough
died—Charlie died over in Carson. He had
been living in Tonopah, but his home was
out in that big valley where Austin is. And
his sister and others were down in California.
I knew—I was going through that day, so I
waited in Austin and went over to the service.
They brought the minister. But when she
saw me there, she said, “My gosh, Si. Just
to think you came this far to be at your old
schoolmate’s funeral!” Charlie went to college
with me. They came from all over the area. Of
course, it’s an occasion and they still observe
the old custom. Now, when there’s a funeral,
they just close up the store. The last people
to do that particular thing in this area that I
can remember is Robinson and McPherson.
Those were both from oldtime families, and
they ran a store together. If it was a friend of
theirs that died, they’d close the store up and
come over to attend the funeral. They weren’t
looking for that almighty dollar.

Another thing that is unusual in Nevada,
and that is the interests that the funeral
directors operated in an area where there are
abandoned mining camps or places fallen
down. They are doing their best to get a

record of the people who are buried there,
and to get the people together and clean it
up before Memorial Day, and have fences
maintained. Right at the present time, Hallie
Eddy is working on this interment way up in
the northern part of that county, near that
Indian reservation. And that’s following what
I did here in the early days of the Odd Fellow-
Masonic cemetery.

Another thing, some ministers are very,
very particular about taking a funeral. “Is he
a member of my church?” “Has he attended
church?” “Was he baptized,” and such things
as that. And, “What was his business?” “Did
he live a clean life,” and so on. Others say,
“Sure, who are the relatives, and so on, and
I’ll go and call on ’em.” See? Now, I know these
people have a right, but it seems to me that
they’re overlooking the fact that the funeral
isn’t for the dead; it’s for the family.

[Laughing] This is an experience—I don’t
know whether you want it recorded or not.
But we had a colored funeral one time at the
colored church here. The minister worked
on the side to make a living; he used to take
care of our lawn out at the mortuary. This
colored lady died. She was a prostitute, but
she wanted the colored minister, and so on. I
took it up with him and he said, “Well, she’s
a bad woman.”

I said, “Well, that’s right, but she has
relatives and close friends who want the
services for her. It’s for them.”

He had the habit of preaching a little bit
about this thing, but he said, “I’ll do it.”

So we went along, and it came up to this
particular place for his remarks<and he said,
“Well, I’m here doing this thing. You know,
I’ve read scripture and I’ve offered prayer,
and,” he said, “I don’t know that I’m going to
help her a bit, but I hope it’ll help you.”

That same minister was up to the church
one time. We always took the body there

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Silas E. Ross

ahead of time and helped them clean up, and
on his lectern, there were some rocks up there.
So wed dust up and we came to these rocks.
I picked them up and started to carry them
out. He said, “No, Mr. Ross, leave those there.”

“Oh,” I said. “I’m sorry. I just thought—.”

“Well,” he said, “the last service I had
here,” he said, “some of the people started to
throw rocks out in back, and,” he said, “I’m
goin’ to throw ’em back!” [laughing]

Have you ever attended a colored funeral?
Well, it’s interesting. Some lady gets up and
she reads all the cards that have been sent
and all the messages that have been sent from
different people all over the area—that’s a part
of the service. Then they sing a lot of harmony;
sometimes they’ll sing a duet or quartet, or
something like that. And they plan a feed
afterwards. Of course, the fraternal groups do
that a lot. Some of the church groups do that.
But always, when the service is over and you’re
not home, they’ll have a meal for you, a supper
or something like that when you come in.

Famous or Unusual Funerals

I will discuss briefly the funerals of
important people, and also, the funerals that
were outstanding or unusual. Now, to me,
all of them are important, but some were
more conspicuous than others due to the
fact that the politicians were in office and
died unexpectedly, or an unusual death by
accident, and such things as that.

Now, as far as I am personally concerned,
during my time, I know that we have handled
the service for five former United States
Senators. The first was George S. Nixon; the
second, William A. Massey; the third, Key
Pittman; the fourth, Patrick McCarran; and
the last one, Ernest S. Brown.

We also handled the service of five former
congressmen: Thomas Wren, George A.

Bartlett, Edwin E. Roberts, Samuel Arentz,
and Maurice J. Sullivan.

And governors, five: Frank Bell, John
Sparks, Fred B. Balzar, Morley Griswold,
Richard Kirman, and Vail M. Pittman.

Wow, there’re going to be some repetitions,
but I’m going to put them down anyhow.
Lieutenant Governors, five: Frank Bell,
Gilbert C. Ross, Maurice J. Sullivan, Morley
Griswold, and Vail Pittman. Now, out of that,
of course, Bell finally became governor, and
[so did] Griswold and Vail Pittman.

Surveyors General, we handled four:
George Watt, Thomas A. Lotz, Ray F. Staley,
and Wayne McLeod.

Superintendents of Public Instruction,
four: C. S. Young, Orvis Ring, John E. Bray,
and Chauncey W. Smith.

Justices of the Supreme Court (and here
again you’re going to have repetition): Judge
W. A. Massey, Thomas Julien, Frank H.
Norcross, Patrick A. McCarran, and E. J. L.
Taber. You’ve got five of those.

Clerks of the Supreme Court, two:
William Kennett and Eva Hatton. We might’ve
handled Brodigan, but I’m not sure on that.

Now, then, district judges, five—no, more
than that: W. A. Massey, Thomas Julien,
Frank Norcross, Patrick McCarran, B. J. L.
Taber, A. J. Maestretti, W. D. Hatton, William
McKnight, D. W. Priest, Miles N. Pike, and
Peter Breen.

Now, it comes to the members of the
Nevada legislature, and golly, it runs—I
don’t know whether I even want to mention
them because we have one, two—twenty-six
or more, a great many of them, members of
the Nevada state legislature, many of whom
served in county and other positions. Now,
all those real old-timers would be H. H. Beck
of Reno, and Felix O’Neill, A. C. Cleveland,
Fielding Lemmon, Charles H. Stoddard,
C. C. Powning, Ross Lewers, George H.

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243

Thoma, R. S. Osburn,}. E. Gignoux, Sol Hilp,
Sardis Summerfield, L. A. Blakeslee, M. C.
McMillan, George E. Peckham, W. W Webster,
Greathouse (that’s W. G.), Samuel Platt, Harry
Martin. A. W. Holmes, T. A. Brandon, H.

B. Bulmer, E. R. Dodge, C. H. Duborg, W.
J. Luke, Sr., William S. Lunsford, Albert D.
Ayers, James Gault, Charles Friedhoff, James
Hash, Alfred Blundell, Harry Heidtman, Guy
Walts, M. R. Penrose, Elbert Stewart, Robert

C. Turrittin, Fred D. Black, Harry Dunseath,
Ernest Kleppe, Edgar Sadler, J. E. Horgan, C.
F. Wittenberg, Newton Crumley, Mabel Isbell.
Now, those—I’ve chosen those out of the
many for the reason that most of them served
in other positions during their lifetime, like
Stoddard was over here as county recorder for
years and years and years, and Delle Boyd’s
father, and those like that.

Now, then, the Regents of the University.
And this is a little surprising because the
Regents, as a rule, were scattered from all
over the state. Not all of them are buried
here, but those that I’ve taken care of are J. N.
Evans, John Sunderland, Jr., Harry Martin, J.

E. Souchereau, William W. Webster, George

F. Turrittin, Richard Kirman, A. A. Codd, Dr.
J. J. Sullivan, Dr. H. E. Reid, J. W. O’Brien,
Walter E. Pratt, Benjamin F. Curler, Mrs.
Edna Baker, Mrs. Eunice Hood, George S.
Brown, George Wingfield, Anna H. Wardin,
and Newton W. Crumley. How, those are the
ones that I can recall, and they are all very
eminent in their entities in Washoe County.
Some of them were second generations, like
John Sunderland, Jr. and Harry Martin. And
then, the Turrittins—George Turrittin was
afterwards the mayor of the city here. Dr.
Sullivan was a Regent of the University and
also the second man from Nevada to get his
MD degree.

Now, then, in the [University] faculty.
You know, I was looking—I know we buried

more of them. As they came to my mind,
they are as follows: Dr. J. E. Church, Dr. Peter
Frandsen, Dr. Samuel B. Doten, Dr. Robert
E. Stewart, Dr. Charles Fleming, Robert
Lewers, Katherine Lewers, Charles Gorman,
Dr. Charles Haseman, Dr. Fred W. Traner,
John Fulton, Col. Robert N. Brambilla, Henry
Thurtell, Horace P. Boardman, Richard Brown,
Anne Martin, Dr. Benjamin Chappelle,
Albert Preston, Charles LeRoy Brown,
Dr. Claude Jones, A1 Higginbotham, Dr.
Charles Hicks, Margaret Mack, Lucille Baugh
Benson, recently Professor N. 2. Wilson,
Dr. George Sears, Fred Bixby, Dr. Reuben
Cyril Thompson, Fred Wilson, Verner Scott,
Cecil Creel, Dr. Eldon Wittwer, McKinlay (I
can’t think of his first name; he was in the
mechanical engineering department), George
Blair, and S. C. Feemster. Now, those are the
ones that I can remember. Some of them had
very important careers, and some of them
were also very active on the campus in helping
the students. They had careers, but at the same
time, they boosted athletics; they’d get out and
play, help coach, and such things as that. And
some of them went clear out on a limb into
the world. But these people are the ones that I
remember. NOW, I can think further; I know
there’re more, but that covers practically every
department. Of course, some that were here
died elsewhere. But let that go for the time
being, and maybe, as we go on with this, we
can give you some highlights on it.

Mayors of Reno: George F. Turrittin, N. E.
Wilson, and a pro tern, Richard Kirman, A.
M. Britt, R. C. Turrittin, Harry E. Stewart, E.
E. Roberts, Sam Frank, pro tern.

Now, the medical men that were here—
Dr. H. H. Hogan, Dr. Dawson I knew, and
Dr. George H. Thoma. But I was not in
the business when they were buried; yet I
afterwards was in touch with their families
in carrying out endowed care and so forth

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Silas E. Ross

for the graves. But from here on out, I think
practically all of them: J. E. Pickard, W. H.
Hood, S. K. Morrison, Samuel G. Gibson,
James W. Gerow, J. L. Robinson, M. A.
Robison, George W Burke, Harold E. Lohlein,
James C. Farrell, T. H. Harper, W. L. Samuels,
C. W. West, William N. Kingsbury, Arthur
E. Landers, A. Parker Lewis, John A. Lewis,
A. L. Stadtherr, Alice Thompson, Thomas W.
Bath, H. E. Belknap, John Tees, B. D. Rice,
Alva Bishop (and I’ll tell you a story about
that; they were cremains), W. L. Kistler, L. R.
Brigman, Horace J. Brown, Byron H. Caples,
Robert R. Couag, Henry L. Dalby, Edward C.
Galsgie, Ernest B. Gregory, Arthur I. Grover,
J. B. Hardy, A. E. Hershiser (he fitted me to
my first glasses), S. L. Joslin, D. C. Lambird,
Carl H. Lehners, Dana Little, W. B. Mack,
Henry A. Paradis, Lawrence Parsons, George
L. Servoss, David L. Shaw, William A. Shaw,
John J. Sullivan, Frederick H. Wichman, A. W.
Wullschluger, and Rodney Wyman.

This will give you an idea; I think about
fifty-two doctors have been buried in the
years that I’ve been in the business. And we’ve
buried two or three of them since that I’ve
participated in, and, oh, judges, and so on.

It was the service of Governor John
Sparks, who died while in office, and we
had no militia or anything like that, so the
commissioned officers of the University
cadet battalion all had their commissions
from the governor, so they decided that the
cadet battalion would turn out and act as an
escort. Now, the governor died on May 25th,
1908. He had an Elk service, and I think the
Reverend Mr. Unsworth had participated in
it as chaplain, and we read some prayers; I’m
not sure. But I have to think about that.

Anyhow, I was in this [University cadet]
battalion. They had horse-drawn equipment.
We were dressed in those heavy blues, and
we presented arms as they placed the casket

in the hearse and so forth. Then we preceded
that thing, walking, to the cemetery. We had
to move right along. And just when we got
to the foot of the hill, the major halted the
militia and the funeral procession and he
sent the firing squad ahead. I was in charge
of that firing squad. We were go to go the area
where Governor Sparks was to be temporarily
entombed and get our ammunition and so
forth.

Now, it was temporarily entombed in the
Kaiser mausoleum (that’s located on the main
road going south from that receiving center,
called section C-l) and was to remain there
until the family decided whether they would
go East and return him to Texas where they
would build a mausoleum, or bury him here.
But they had to wait until such time as they
could go into the will and the estate, and such
things as that. It was some time afterwards
that they decided that that was out, and they
then buried him in the Masonic section of the
Mountain View cemetery. The plot was taken
in the name of the governor’s son, Benton
Sparks, who was a member of Reno Lodge
No. 13 F and AM. Now, Governor Sparks
did take the Masonic apprentice degree, but
he never continued it. He was on the road so
much he finally gave up getting his lecture.
Now, I participated in that removal Cit was
sometimes afterwards), (but] not as anyone
in the funeral business. I was interested in
the funeral, but I participated as a Mason,
carrying it across.

But getting back to the firing squad, I
went up to Captain Cox, who was the head
of the state police and had been captain of
Troop N, Torrey’s Rough Riders, which was
a Nevada troop, the first Nevada troop to
leave here for the Spanish-American War.
We sent them to Fort D. A. Russell. They only
got as far as Cuba, though, and the war was
over. Well, anyhow, I went up to Captain Cox

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245

and explained who I was and told him that
Captain Brambilla, who was a commandant
at the University at that time, had told me
to come to him and he would give me the
ammunition for these old muskets. So he
handed the ammunition to me and I looked
them over, and they just had caps in them.
It was the old-fashioned layout; there was
no powder or a rod. So I looked at them
and I said, “Captain, these will not make a
report. Did you get the wrong ammunition,
or what?”

He said, “They will make the report.”

So I refrained the question, and he said,
“They will, and you use them.”

I said, “All right.”

And they came up to the firing squad. I
lined them up and gave the commands, and
all we had was a little clicking of the hammers
that went down. But I went through the whole
thing three times, three volleys. When the
service was over, Captain Brambilla, who was
the commandant, came up to me, and he said,
“What was the matter?”

“Well,” I said, I told him—I repeated what
my experience was, and I said, “Cox told me to
use them and intimated he wanted no further
conversation.” You know, I never heard a
man get a dressing down like Brambilla did
Captain Cox! Captain Cox was a man—I
would say he was fully six feet tall. He
weighed, oh, a hundred and eighty to ninety
pounds, well-built. Toby went up to him and
he said, “I understand that you told Sergeant
Ross that that ammunition would report and
to use it.”

He said, “Yes.”

And he said, “You ought to be ashamed of
yourself! A man whod served in the Spanish -
American War and was a captain, and so
forth, should’ve known these things!” And
he dressed him down pretty bad, and he said,
“I’m going to report you to the governor.

I think he was the head of the state police
or something like that. And the captain took
it. Of course, it was embarrassing and it was
explained.

Now, the other part of it was this:. May
fifteenth, and it was kind of warm that day.
And marching back, the cadet major, who was
Lloyd D. Skinner, stopped us up on Ralston.
Then he had us march north to Fifth Street.
Then he sent a commissioned officer down
to stop at this saloon up here at the corner of
Fifth Street. The old beer brewery was to the
south of it. Then they had this saloon, and
out in front, they had a watering trough for
these farmers to water their horses, and so on.
He ordered cokes or soda, or something like
that, for each one of us. And they’d have to
have so many on the bar. Then they ordered
beer as the last layout for the commissioned
officers, being of age, see? So we got just about
in front of the brewery and he halted us, and
then he directed the first squad to form single
file to go through the bar and pick up their
soft drinks, and put them down and go out
on the other side, and assemble. And as soon
as they were through, he’d have the other one
come through, and right on down the line.
Oh, it was refreshing! Probably a violation
of the law, but Skinner was a man that knew
what he was doing. All of us minors who were
under twenty-one, we got the soft drinks. And
he paid for the whole layout. Now, I’ve never
forgotten it. Too, because of the unusual thing
in burying the governor.

Now, this was well attended, this service,
had people all over the state, as well as some
people from the outside. And the Elks halls
were just crowded, and they were outside, too.
Of course, it was not as large a funeral at that
time because they didn’t have so many people
here, but it was representative. People came
that were in politics and the stock business
from all over the state.

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Silas E. Ross

Since that time, I have buried in that plot
Benton Sparks’s wife, Ada E. Sparks, and the
cremains of Mr. Sparks’s wife, his son, Charlie,
and a grandson. Now, Ada was buried. The
others were all cremains and they are in the
grave with the governor. Later, the daughter
made a bronze bust, herself. She was an artist,
or whatever you want to call them. Then
they built a tall pillar of reinforced concrete
and cement and placed the bust on top of
that. I forget just what they call those things
in monuments, but it was supposed to be
something like the tall spire that they erected
in Washington, D. C. for Senator Taft. Oh,
there’s a name for it; I’ll think of it later.

Now, next was Senator Nixon. Senator
Nixon died in 1912— June of 1912, while
in office, and they were debating as to what
type of service he would have. At first, they’d
asked for a Masonic service. Then there were
people coming from Washington and other
places, so they decided to have an Episcopal
service and have it on the lawn of his home up
on California Avenue. Now, I was in on that
because I was a Mason and was told by the
new master that if it was a Masonic service, I
would have to do it because he hadn’t done it’.
So we’d been prepared for it. But we attended
the service anyhow, and his body was placed
in the receiving vault (that’s on top of the
hill; that’s what they called it, the crypt in the
receiving vault) until such time as they could
build a family mausoleum. The mausoleum
was to be erected in the Masonic section, and
it was erected on the north end of the main
drive, going north, looking down that strip.
This was completed late in ’14 or early ’15,
and really, there are eight crypts in it, but six
above ground. It apparently was erected by
direction in his will, that he wanted such a
thing for himself and his family. I participated
in moving the body and in the Masonic
committal layout. And it was in early ’15, I

perhaps participated as the funeral director at
the time, because it’s one of the first ones that
we had. Now, they had Masonic committal
services; that’s right.

Now, later, he had a son called Bertram
Estill Nixon, and he got his interest of the
estate. He was married, had a child, was living
down around Burlingame or that area just
below San Francisco, and he was killed in
an auto wreck. And he was brought up here
and placed in that. Then I had charge of that
service. Mrs. Nixon remarried. Somebody
said that this fellow, Armand d’Aleria, was a
count, or something, but he turned out to be
no-account, and squandered everything she
had, I guess, because she died in southern
California without funds, and the daughter-
in-law went down and claimed the cremains
and brought them to her home. Now, I don’t
know whether it was Modesto or Fresno or
if it was Stockton. Some time later, I guess
Bertram’s estate had been dissipated, too.
Anyhow, the daughter-in-law came to Reno
with the idea of taking out the bodies of the
senator and her former husband, Bertram,
and cremating them and taking the cremains
to bury them in her plot in one of those
places down there and to sell the mausoleum,
claiming that the boy had an interest in it, see,
the grandson.

Now, I was called in on that by the
attorneys. I told them that they’d better look
into the law because this mausoleum, as
we understood it in Masonry, was built by
direction of Mr. Nixon and it was paid for out
of his estate. He made provision, you see, for
members of the family. Now, the ground was
selected for the site and everything like that.
The estate paid for it and it was accepted by the
lodge as a permanent thing, with instructions
to place only members of the family in there.
Mrs. Nixon didn’t endow the mausoleum
or the ground around it. Years afterwards,

A Career in Funeral Practice

247

George Wingfield did that. Anyhow, I then
discussed the matter with the attorney of
Reno lodge No. 13 and told him that we might
get involved if they permitted it, and if they
were going to do it, make them bring the
case in court. So then, finally—fortunately,
the attorney had talked to me about it. I took
her out to the cemetery and showed her and
everything like that. And I said, “You know, as
I understand the regulations here, you have no
claim to it at all, and you cant desecrate a place
like this. And it was done in trust, see, with
the Masons. And they are not in a position to
relinquish this right or sell it.” And I would
suggest that maybe, it she was going to do it,
that she might be up against a. suit. Well, she
got her attorney and he advised her the same
way, so she left and never has come back.

I’m going to A. C. Cleveland. Mr. Cleveland
was born in Maine in 1838—that’s the same
time my dad was born in Massachusetts. He
originally settled in this area and he worked
in the mills as an expert on the mill business
in the area where the Winters ranch is. He was
sent to the state assembly from this county, and
later he was elected a county commissioner.
Now, at the time that he was elected to county
commissioner, he was elected as a delegate
to the Republican state convention (in those
days, they used to nominate their ticket) with
instructions to cast his vote for Blasdel against
Winters for the nomination. I guess it was a
pretty hot fight. But anyhow, they brought
all kinds of pressure to bear on him. He also
had a small interest in one of the mines up in
Virginia City with Winters and he was working
with Winters, see. And they brought all kinds
of pressure on him, even to threaten him with
losing his job, and so forth, unless he voted for
his boss. Us reply was this: that he came there
under instructions; he had no right to change
his vote. His word was as good as his bond, and
he voted for Blasdel.

Now, from what I had heard from Father,
Cleveland left here and went to the eastern
part of the state. I know that he went to
Hamilton. I knew that when I checked him
out on his Masonic membership. And he
stayed there for quite a while. Then his next
real move was over into the Ely district. But
he went by Eureka and Cherry Creek. He
was there in mining just a little bit and then
he decided to go into the stock business. He
acquired land south and east of what is now
Ely and around that hill and back in on the
creek where the smelter is. And he went into
the blooded stock—that is, cattle and blooded
horses and blooded dogs. His place was quite
famous for his hospitality for people that
came through, but also quite famous for this
particular kind of a dog. They could outrun
coyotes and such things as that. Then his
cattle were all a good strain. He had tried all
of ’em, and finally, he crossed some of them,
and some of them he kept for purebreds—
the Herefords, the Durhams, the Angus, and
so on.

Now, he died in Ely in 1903. He had
expressed some time, am told Land I got
this from Mrs. (Kate Peters) Cleveland long
after he died), that he hoped that he would
be brought back to Reno to be placed in the
Masonic cemetery and a mausoleum be built
for him and her. Well, it took her some time
to get the whole thing straightened out. She
did come in and built that, and I’m told (at
least she told me) that the estate paid for it.
They got this stone, granite, from Vermont,
and such Things as that. They were in crypts,
one beside the other, and a bronze entrance,
and so forth. He was placed in There in 1907.

Now, later, Mrs. Cleveland took some
trips and such Things as that, and finally she
came back into this area. I think that some
promoters got told of her, and also Mrs.
McKissick (that’s Howard McKissick’s mother,

248

Silas E. Ross

who was a widow), and interested Them in
financing a development on. North Sierra
Street on The west side, from Eleventh Street
to the city limits (which is on top of That hill
over there), and from Sierra Street over to
the reservoir. They surveyed this thing and
they had all those circular drives you see up
there—you’ll notice some of The names are
Cleveland Avenue, and so on. They sold some
property and quite a bit of lots to people from
Tonopah and so on. There were a few houses
built on it, and They graded the streets and
put in curbs and gutters and fenced in places.
Then they ditched out and these people had all
their money in there with no chance of going
ahead, see? They got her on two or three of
these ventures, and she finally wound up here.

She was a member of The Eastern Star, and
Mr. Cleveland was a Mason. He was raised in
the lodge in Cherry Creek; it’s Steptoe Lodge
No. 24 F and AM. Then he went from the Ely
district, you see? I had to trace his Masonic
layout, so I first went to Hamilton and I
couldn’t find anything there at all. So then
I tried Eureka, and couldn’t find anything,
then I went over and tried Austin. Then I
tried White Pine—that is, the lodge in Ely. Of
course, it got its charter after that, you see? So
I thought I’d go to Steptoe, and sure enough, I
picked it up. There, he was a member until the
end of his life, and he used to travel to attend
lodge up there.

Well, now, then, one day Mrs. Cleveland
came over to see me. She was out at Washoe
Medical at the time, and she was being cared
for by the Eastern Star, Masons, and also,
Mr. Charles McGill (he was the son of the
original McGill out there; the original McGill,
of course, apparently purchased that part of
the Cleveland property where McGill is now).
So she had the idea—she knew that she was
broke and she didn’t like to accept this charity.
So she went to an attorney who was a Mason

and he chatted with her a while. “Now,” he
said, “Ell have to look this up,” and he took
these notes down, and so forth. He said, “If
you want to go up to the cemetery and see
what’s there, I’m sure that Mr. Si Ross will
take you up.” And she left. The next day she
called me. But in the meantime, he called me
and told me what she wanted. So I had called
him back and gave him the same story that I
gave on Nixon.

So she gave it up, and when she passed on,
we handled the service, and Mr. McGill and
the Masons and Eastern Star paid for it. She’s
laid there, but mind you, she never endowed
the spot. So the Masons were carrying that
along. There was another attempt, you see,
to move his body. A cemetery’s got to be
pretty careful about that. It’s placed in there
in a certain person’s name. Unless it’s been
deeded to somebody else, and the like of that,
you can’t remove that body, even though it’s
your layout, a body of a relative of yours. If
you’re placed in that plot, you couldn’t take
it out—say it was in my plot—without my
consent. There’s a good reason for it.

Now, the next interesting thing in which I
participated was the funeral of Harry J. Gosse,
Jr. He enlisted in the war and he was sent to
Hawaii. He became ill, and if I remember
correctly, it developed into meningitis. He was
critically ill and Mrs. Gosse went over. It was
diagnosed as that, and it was only a matter of
time. That’s one of the reasons of the delay.
He died July, 1917, and we didn’t bury him
until August, 1917. So there was some time
that elapsed between the time he died and he
was brought here for this funeral.

Now, being among, or maybe the first,
from Reno that had enlisted that died in
the service, quite naturally everybody was
concerned, and he had a very, very large
funeral. We planned it, and we had all kinds
of suggestions of what we should and should

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not do. But there was a certain group that got
together and they decided on certain things.
They were going to have this with any military
stuff that they could get, and they insisted
that we get a large flag and cover the top of
the hearse with it. I called their attention to
the regulations that that casket was to be
covered with the colors and protected against
inclement weather. There was no authority
to put it on top of the hearse. I further stated
that I didn’t think they could find a flag large
enough to go around there. But they insisted
on it. So they got the big flag and I tied it on
there, and everybody thought that was a fine
thing to do and it should be done. But it was
wrong.

There was quite a lengthy parade. I
remember we came from there up Virginia,
and then from Second to Ralston, and from
Ralston to the extension of Third Street. Then
we took the county road from there up to the
cemetery. Of course, we had motor equipment
at that time and traveled a little bit faster than
we would any other time. Now, I’m quite sure
there was a firing squad, but where it came
from, I don’t know, unless they called in the
cadet battalion. They could do that again, but
I’m just not sure. Now, it was largely attended,
and the matter of organizing it, getting the
cars in the proper place and policing the
streets—all of those things had to be taken
care of, and we did it to the satisfaction of Mr.
and Mrs. Gosse.

Now, the next unusual service was
William R Blanchfield. Blanchfield was quite
a pioneer in Reno. He was a veteran of the
English air corps during the war and he
came over to this country and went into this
mail service. A buddy from the air service,
Serazin, I think that’s it, had died and they
were burying him in the K of P cemetery. It
was decided that Blanchfield, because he and
this fellow had been buddies somewhere, was

to go and fly over and drop a wreath on the
grave when the thing was over. Now, there’s
confusion in the reports as to whether he
dropped the wreath or not. But I was there.
He dropped the wreath and he almost made
a bull’s-eye. And I can see that plane—see, it
was up above these trees, making this turn,
and it turned and finally got over near Ralston
and just cut down, like this [gesture].

And we took care of it. His mother and
one sister were in Ireland, and another sister,
Mary, was on her way to Australia, and I think
he had a brother—anyhow, some relative that
was in Los Angeles. He came up and they
decided to bury him here. The Odd Fellows,
because this is the first sojourner, you might
say, I reckon, gave the plot of ten graves for
the burial of veterans who had no ties in this
country or anything like that, and no one to
care for them. So we buried him in this plot
with the understanding with the Odd Fellows
that the others could be buried there until
there was a total number of ten graves. But
the veterans got busy and went out and raised
money to put up a large headstone called
“Blanchfield” with his name on it. And it was
understood that there weren’t to be any more
markers on that grave, but the names would
be inscribed on the monument.

Now, I had the address of the mother
and I kept all the clippings, pictures, and so
forth, that I got and sent them to the mother
so that she might know what it was and
what happened, and told her that if on any
anniversary or anything like that that she’d like
to have flowers placed on the grave, we’d be glad
to do this. She came back, and she thanked me
and asked if I would place the Irish shamrock
(she sent it to me) on his grave. I said I would
gladly do it. Now, when it came, it was dry and
so on, but we placed it on the grave and had a
picture taken and sent it back. And again I told
her we would like to repeat this, but maybe I

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Silas E. Ross

could get permission of the cemetery trustees
to plant some shamrock on the grave, and if
she could send me some roots that were moist
in a little [bag], Id try it. And she wrote back,
the dear little lady, and thanked me so much.
She said, “There’s no use trying. The shamrock
won’t grow anywhere but in Ireland.”

That was a large funeral because it was an
accidental death, and such things as that, and
it turned out to be rather simple yet extensive
planning with relatives in Ireland, somebody
down here, over in Australia to coordinate.
Now, he was buried from the cathedral over
here. His mail buddies were pallbearers.

Now, then, two other things that I want
to get to, and that is this: that I participated
in moving the body of J. W. Haines, who had
been a member of the [Nevada] constitutional
convention. He’d also been a Regent of the
University. And some claim that he was the
inventor of the V-flume for logging. There are
a lot of people that’ve claimed that. He was a
very influential person. He was the father of
Jack Howell’s mother. When one of them died,
Mrs. Howell (I think her mother lived with
her here for many years) had us move him
over here, with the monument and all, and
placed him in a cemetery. I participated. As
a matter of fact, I planned it for them.

The other one is J. K. Lovejoy. Now, J. K.
Lovejoy was a newspaperman and he worked
on the Was hoe Zephyr, and such things as
that. He was elected to the second territorial
legislature from Washoe County, and that
was in 1862. He was working for two people
over there that were operating the paper;
one of them was shot and the other one died
unexpectedly. So he purchased the paper
and published it for a while. (You can get
information on that. I’ve written an article; it’s
in the local papers.) But they wrote me and
asked if I would get somebody to write this
story; they’d have an editorial layout.*

That was a very interesting thing. This
grave was discovered, or known about, many
years ago. It was discovered by the Verdi
justice of the peace, Mosconi. The Mosconis
were acting as custodians and directors of
the ranch there—I think it was for the power
company here. There was a fence corner near
the house, and it was growing up to sagebrush
and trash and so forth, and she had the boys
go out and clean that up and take it out and
burn it because it was a fire hazard. When
they came back to clear up the thing, they
found this monument there, laid flat, and it
had “J. K. Lovejoy” on it, and the year that
he was born, the year of his death. They had
a square and compass and didn’t have any
“G” on it. Mrs. Mosconi took care of that
thereafter and she placed flowers on it every
year at Memorial day. When she passed on,
her boys continued it.

Then Ira LaRivers got interested in Verdi,
and this was called to his attention. He
brought me a description of it and wanted
to know if I knew where he belonged to
the Masons. Oh, I think he called me up. I
said, “I will Research it.” He had the dates.
1877 he died. So when I did look up the old
“Proceedings” of 1877 in that particular area, I
couldn’t locate his name. So I told Ira; I called
him. I said, “I can’t get it yet, but let me go
a little bit further, and I’ll go back into the
old lodges under California.” And by golly, I
picked him up there, and I picked him up as
a charter member of old Washoe lodge No.
2. See, in looking over in 1877,1 wouldn’t’ve
found him there. Then I traced him so far and
then lost him. Then somewhere, we got the
hunch that there were— Illinois, these people.
I said to Ira, “You have better contacts than I

* New Age, June, 1967

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have through the University. Maybe you could
get in touch with the bureau of vital statistics
in Illinois or the historical group and see if
you can find out about this thing.” And he
did this development.

I then kept going, and I finally found that
this fellow had been out of the Quincy area,
someplace there, when he came to Washoe,
and he was a Mason there, see? Now, then,
after the paper in Washoe City closed up, he
went north. Then he came back and went
to Virginia City, and he started a paper. It
didn’t last very long. Then he went to Carson
and tried it. That didn’t last. He went back to
Quincy a little bit and then went to Verdi, and
he bought a piece of ground there and took
up additional ground. He was elected justice
of the peace.

But anyhow, we traced that thing, even
the tact that they were abolitionists. One of
the Lovejoys had a printing plant and they
tossed it in the river—it’s all in that article.
The research was actually done by me from
the Masonic point of view.

It was I that conceived the idea of moving
the body here, see, instead of covering it up
or plowing it up. We got the cooperation of
the power company. I guess if I hadn’t been
tenacious, they would have lost it completely.
It was based on ’77 [Proceedings].

But he was very interesting.

You’ve heard of the shooting war [“Roop
County War”] up around Susanville. Well, the
citizens representing Nevada and the citizens
representing California had a meeting and
stopped this shooting war, passed a resolution
asking that the governors of the two states
get together and settle it. They sent a copy
of the resolution to the governor here of the
territory and the governor in California.
And the acting governor of the territory
here was Mark Twain’s brother. So he sent
this Lovejoy up there to look into the thing.

Before I finished, I had a copy of the resolution
that was made up here in Susanville. And
I had a copy of his report. I’ve got it in the
files here someplace. It’s interesting to read.
Wow, he did some reporting. John Sanford
says that he thinks that he wrote a lot for the
Crescent Cit was one of these early papers
here) because—well, he got mad at the county
commissioners here because he didn’t agree
with their attitude towards the Central Pacific
railroad. And my! He had a sharp tongue and
a sharp pen! He’s a contemporary of the thing.
Now, of course, that was an interesting thing
in which I participated, and this other. And
it just meant history.

Now, at this point, I’d like to say this. In
that list of names you took there, it’s been my
privilege to bury people from all walks of life.
To me, every one of them were important to
somebody. They cover the bracket of United
States Senators, congressmen, governors,
secretaries of state—you have all of that list
there. The three outstanding services that we
handled were Governor Balzar, Senator Key
Pittman, and Senator Pat McCarran. We also
had Bishop George Hunting and Mayor E. r.
Roberts.

Well, now, you find in reviewing this, that
all of these, if they’re in political office and
there is an unexpected death, an unexpired
term and they die, or if he is in the governing
layout, that it becomes public property. The
shock is great and the sympathy of the people
is extended. Usually those deaths are more
elaborate; more organizations and people
participate. Next to that is the sudden death
of anybody in the community—unexpected
death. You can depend on a large funeral.

More recently, though, if a man has been
out of office some time, or even though
he’s held an important office and he’s out of
circulation, we have a funeral for them and
such things as that, but the attendance is not

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Silas E. Ross

as great. I can cite quite a number of those
people, like ex-governors, ex-United States
Senators, and so on down the line.

Now, I think Pittman—let’s see, he died
in 1940. There were all kinds of nasty rumors
and such things. Remember, he died right
after the election? They said a lot of things,
and that was brought up not long ago. I was
brought into it and I said, “Well, our records
show (thus and so). He died in Washoe
Medical Center.”

“Ah, they brought him in from Tonopah,
or someplace, and kept him there ’til after
election.” But that’s not true.

When he died, Mrs. Pittman had asked
for me because I was an SAE. She knew that
I knew the senator and assisted him from the
University to get chapter national through
him. So a state funeral was planned, and it
was held in the old State Building auditorium
with an Episcopal minister. And we had a
male quartet made up of good people. There
was one fellow, a friend of Pittman’s that could
sing a little bit, and he wanted to sing in the
quartet. But it was balanced, so they didn’t
want an additional voice. He approached
Mrs. Pittman, and she said, “If you can let
him sing, all right, she said, “you keep down.
The tenor’s high!”

Well, anyhow, they planned this state
funeral and arranged for bearers, and Bob
Douglass (who was his right-hand man here;
he was connected with the Internal Revenue)
and we had worked it out ahead of time. I
cautioned Bob on a certain number of things.
I told him what the custom is, that we couldn’t
wait for the sergeant-at-arms to come out and
do the planning. I knew what the regulations
were and I’d like to go ahead and plan this
thing. And he said, “You go ahead.

Now, he met these people out at the
air field, arranged transportation, and they
stayed at the Riverside. As soon as they had

registered, the sergeant-at-arms went to Bob
and he said, “I’ve got to get in touch with the
undertaker and go over and show him what
to do and how to do it.”

And Bob told him this. He said, “The
thing for you to do is go up and get cleaned up
and rest a little bit. This is all planned out, and
our undertaker knows what you’re doing. You
and your group be at a certain point. An area
is designated for you. He has chairs for you,
and he’ll have your chair where it belongs, on
the right, and so on.” And the fellow did that.

We tried to work in people to assist us that
meant something. SAE meant a lot to Key—
that’s Sigma Alpha Epsilon. It meant a lot to
his people. So one of my staff members was
an SAE. So I assigned him to the family. I took
him over and introduced him to the family,
and he took complete care of them. Then the
others I had spotted in different directions
so that there was never any running around
or anything like that at all. And we had—oh,
it was a big procession. We went clear over
to Fourth Street on Virginia, then out to the
cemetery. And there, the body was placed in
this receiving vault pending final disposition.

There was talk about entombment and all
of these things, and they finally decided that
they were going to place him in the Masonic
section in what they called a mausoleum or
vault row, and these people were going out
to get estimates on the cost of a double-crypt
mausoleum, either side by side or one on
top of the other. They consulted with Mrs.
Pittman and they came to me. I recommended
Howard Seidell of San Francisco, who was
quite an artistic man, to come up and listen
to them and make some sketches. They finally
decided on the high one, one crypt above the
other, and they were placed from the rear.
In due’ time, when it was finished, accepted,
we moved the body. They had an Episcopal
minister, and, you know, I don’t remember

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who it was. I can find out. I think it was Father
Botkin that had the service.

Now, the next is Senator McCarran.
Senator McCarran didn’t die in Reno; he died
in Hawthorne. It was announced— the family
had a caucus, and Miss Adams was acting for
them, and Harriet said she wanted me to take
care of it. So we went out and got him and
brought him in. And the family all got here,
the nuns and the other daughters, and the
son, Harriet, and some of her people, and they
concluded that they wanted a church service
first and then a state service. They wanted a
rosary. They would like to have the casket in
state in the church and open, and to have the
rosary in the evening; then the next morning,
a mass; then escort the body from the
cathedral past his home to Court Street, then
Court Street down to Virginia and across that,
and then place the body in the auditorium.
There was a little misunderstanding with the
parish priest up there, so Miss Adams called
me and asked me if I would come over. I
guess it was something about the usage of the
church a certain time.

So I said to them, “Now, this is what you
want?”

They said, “Yes.”

“Well, then,” I said, “why don’t we call the
bishop and ask him to come over because
he is the top man of the church and see if he
would approve of this, and if not, how much
he would approve.

So they asked me if I would call him. Then
they asked me if, when I got there, I would
explain to him what they wanted. And I did.

And the bishop said, “That you shall
have.” He said, “I’ll straighten this fellow out
over here.

This was planned quite meticulously, and
thank goodness, our staff worked beautifully.
We had the cooperation of the police on
traffic. The Knights of Columbus had this

guard all night long, and they decided they
wanted to walk as an escort from the church
and so on, over to the State Building. And
this remark came from Carson from a lady
who had attended all the services. She said,
“The most impressive thing of the whole thing
that I saw was when the Knights Templar....”
[laughing]. Their uniform was similar.

Now, Senator McCarran had a plot in
Mountain View cemetery, in which his
mother and father were both buried. Some
consideration had been given to place
him in there, but his friends got together
immediately and decided that they would
go out and raise the money to build a
mausoleum. So instead of burying the
body, we took it to the cemetery and had
committal prayers and his body put in the
receiving vault, where it was held until the
mausoleum was completed. The mausoleum
is in Mausoleum Row of the Masonic section
of Mountain View cemetery. It was taken out
in his name, he being a Mason. Those that
had charge of it decided to make it a double.
Instead of making it side by side, they had
the crypts one above the other, which meant
that the—well, in general terms, it made it
a mausoleum instead of a sarcophagus, see.
And when it was completed, within the year,
we moved his body over there and we had an
Episcopal minister give the prayers. Quite a
number of the close friends and relatives were
present at that particular time.

On both the Pittman and the McCarran
cases—I told you in Pittman how the sergeant-
at-arms—? Well, now, the next case wasn’t a
sergeant-at-arms; it was a talkative group.
The sergeant-at-arms knew his a-b-c’s. These
people were having a big discussion, and we
were ready for them. I went up and told them
that we were ready; we were going to start the
service at a certain time. They kept talking.
They weren’t paying any attention.

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Silas E. Ross

Finally, I spoke up, and I said, “Gentlemen,”
and then stopped. I said, “You heard what I
said. Now, I’m going down to start that service
right now. If you want to stay here and talk,
fine, but I’m not going to delay the service.
If you want to come with me, I’ll have him
(seat you].”

And they said, “Okay.”

And, really, I had letters from the
sergeant-at-arms and from the Senators
that attended that, complimenting me very
highly on the way that it was handled, for the
meticulousness, even to the arrangement of
the flowers. So I felt pretty good about that.

My experience with deaths of the kind
where the people are in public office and
sudden deaths or untimely deaths always
brought people out in attendance to the
funeral [was that) you also had to contemplate
the possibility of a large funeral and make
more elaborate arrangements to handle a
crowd.

Now, Governor [Fred] Balzar died (and
you have the date on that) in office, and he
was buried here in Reno in the Masonic
section. We handled the service (it was a
public service), and if I remember correctly,
it was held from the State Building. This was
the case of an untimely death, although it was
expected because the governor had been ill for
some little time. In cases such as this, people
came from all over the state, and particularly
those that were in connection with the state,
or both political parties. So we had to make
arrangements for that, and naturally, it was
pretty well attended. The tribute paid him
by the people was certainly helpful to Mrs.
Balzar.

Now, another funeral that was unusual
was Bishop George Hunting. After he was
prepared and the wife had made the selection
of a casket, we took it back to his home, the
bishop’s house over here. We had to carry it

up the winding stairs to be in the little chapel,
where it remained in state for people to call.
Then there was a day’s delay because Mrs.
Hunting had seen a certain type of casket
and she wanted that, but she wanted it to
be covered with purple silk indicative of his
office, and the handles, the corners, to be a
gold finish, and a certain type of interior, and I
think that it was a little off-cream, not a white
interior. He was buried in his bishop’s robes.

Now, we had the service in the little
chapel on the corner of Eighth and University
Avenue. It was never built for a funeral; it was
built more for just student use up there and
for people to go in and out. The result is that
it required quite a bit of manipulation to get
it through doors and in and out and then put
it up in the chancel (that’s in the area between
the choir pews and just before you get to the
altar, or the communion rail).

Now, one of the things that impressed
me much was that the bishop had said that
he wanted sacred music, and a lot of it, and
simple scripture and prayers. He had that, and
you know, it’s one of the most inspirational
services that I have ever attended. It is a
happy setup; it’s a transition; he’s gone on,
see, with his God. We then brought it back
to the mortuary. Of course, there was a lot
of his clergy there and a lot of Masons. His
Masonic brethren who were members of the
church were his active pallbearers, and the rest
of the clergy were in escort. Bishop Hunting
had expressed the desire to be cremated. He
wanted his cremains buried on a certain lot
in the old Virginia City cemetery. It was an
old-time family plot.

flow, I was informed, and in the history
of Bishop Hunting it was verified there, that
when he was a young curate, he worked in
that church up there. And to make a little
money on the side, he’d go out and pick up
rocks off the dump, and things like that, that

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had some value. It was reported that he was
very/ very popular in that he didn’t high-hat
anybody When they had a project, he’d get
right in and work with them. He was well liked
throughout the state, because he’d served in
the state as a priest before he went to Utah.
I don’t know, I guess when he was in Ely, he
built two or three churches in the area, and
there were cornerstones laid at the time.
Bishop Hunting was very active in Masonry,
too, but particularly the Scottish Rite. He had
been honored with the Knight Commander
of the Court of Honor by Utah when he was
over there. Bishop Hunting’s cremains were
buried in this particular plot and a marker
put on it under the direction of Mrs. Hunting.
Mrs. Hunting was related to the Pullman
family and she was quite wealthy. When she
died back in the East somewhere, she had her
ashes sent out here, too.

The last time I was up in the cemetery,
vandals had been in the area, but the Roman
Catholic priest up there got some help from
the prison and he cleaned up not only the
Catholic, but all of those places; it looked fine.
They got it settled pretty well, and then there
was another bunch of vandalism. Frankly, I’ve
got to admit that I’ve been negligent, because
when I heard about this thing, I was going up
to look after it to see if I couldn’t set it properly,
or have it set properly.

Now, another service that I thought was
very impressive and unusual was that of
Bishop William Fisher Lewis. Now, you know,
he was bishop from the missionary district
of Nevada for a great number of years and
he was greatly loved by everybody. He came
from a Masonic family, and while he was here,
he joined the Masons. He’s the man that was
responsible for our present Galilee [camp at
Lake Tahoe].

When he came, Galilee was up at Stateline,
and it only had an easement to the beach, and

so on. It wasn’t the best place in the world for
this, so they decided to sell the place and get
something new. And just why, I don’t know,
although I was a good friend of Mr. Lewis,
he came to me about the selling of it, and he
said, “There are people up there that want it,
and they are the gambling fraternity. And,”
he said, “I don’t know that I should sell it for
that particular purpose.” He says, “I’ve been
praying and I’ve had correspondence and I’ve
talked to people, and they’re divided on it.”

And I said, “Why?”

“Well, they all say it’s tainted money,” or
something like that.

And I said, “Well, Bishop, if I’d go up and
buy this piece of property and turn around
and sell it to you, would it be tainted?” I said,
“Frankly, I think you should deal directly with
them. It’s a business proposition. And you’ll
find that it’s going to be all right.”

So he decided to sell, and there were
several people after it. The one that offered
him the best proposition wanted to pay so
much down and then over a period of time.
He called me one day and he said, “They’re
coming down tomorrow morning to close the
deal. That do you think about it?”

And I said, “Get your money. And in
addition to that, tell them that there’s certain
things that you have there, like the altar and
so on, that you want moved. And if you can’t
get the money, I’ll get somebody that will give
you the money.” (I knew they would do it.)
So he took it.

In the meantime, though, before he sold
it, I suggested that he look around and see
if he couldn’t get something, but he had
something that was worthwhile and they
wouldn’t have to just do away or delay for any
period of time the custom and idea they had
of Galilee. I happened to know a lady that had
some property up there. She came from an
Episcopal family. And on this piece of ground,

256

Silas E. Ross

on the beach, she had built little cottages.
These cottages are named after the different
mining camps, like Sutro and Dayton, and so
on down the line. They had outside toilets,
and so forth, but you had a unit there. Now,
this piece of property extends across the road,
well up on the hill, and it has the water right
to that spring. So he negotiated the purchase
of that, and she was very reasonable about it.
She gave him a little time on it, but it didn’t
take too long to raise the money to pay for it.
He got up there and he worked right along
with everybody. It you wanted to find Bishop
Lewis, you’d see him digging a sewer, or
something like that.

His idea at that time was that it would
be large enough to make it a state project,
and every church would be assigned a piece
of land for the use of its rector and their
immediate family. And if they weren’t using it,
it would go into the camp of Galilee for more
people. Well, it sounded good, but there was a
problem there. The churches were small and
they didn’t go ahead with that.

So he went ahead with this development
that we have now. He moved a lot of the old
church that was in Goldfield up, hut he found,
after he got a lot of the stuff up here, that the
stone that was used was cut irregularly and
was hard to handle. So he used all the wooden
part and then went ahead with the cement
bricks around it. They did preserve enough
of the cast stone to make the entrance. They
left the old cornerstone in it. But the church
in Goldfield overlooked the desert—that
is, when you looked through the chancel
window. He changed that around so that it
overlooked Lake Tahoe over Tallac, where
you see that cross. It’s just a beautiful sight.
It wasn’t long after that until he had raised
enough money to build a little dormitory
for girls. And they put in cesspools and such
things as that. Now, these people that he sold

to not only moved the stuff over, but they paid
for everything, and then they gave him a nice
little contribution besides to start it.

Now, the piece of ground directly to the
south was owned by a gambler, and he had a
lovely home on it. He decided to sell because
he was leaving the area. It had lake frontage
and went back as far as the highway. He
came to Bishop Lewis and he said, “Now, this
highway property is for sale.” He said, “I put
it on the market. You’ll have to raise quite a
bit of money. But if you want it, I’ll make you
a price and give you time to pay for it.” That
lovely home and everything like that.

The bishop consulted me and some others
on it, and we said, “Go ahead and take it. And
if you need a little money, some of us can
contribute toward a down payment.” And
that was done. The purchase was immediately
concluded.

He was an unusual fellow, a hail fellow
well met, but deeply religious, and he loved
youth and people. Then he came to me about
the time they were finishing the church.
He wanted to know if they could place a
cornerstone and still preserve the old one.
And I said, “Yes, place the old one where it was
in the original chapel in Goldfield, and place
the new one on the other corner by arranging
an opening large enough to accommodate an
urn or copper box. Then we can place a bronze
plate over the face of the opening.”

One of the interesting things in the early
days there, or I guess before it was settled
up, deer would come down and they’d look
through the windows, and things like that.
Well, anyhow, after Bishop Lewis moved
north (his home—he said it was always
Nevada), he decided if anything happened to
him, with the consent of his family, he’d like to
be buried here. He talked it over with his wife,
his daughter, his son-in-law, and his son and
daughter-in-law, and the family of the son (he

A Career in Funeral Practice

257

was in the chemistry department up here, and
quite a Congregationalist). So he took a full
plot. They had a service up north for him and
cremated him and brought him down here
and had cremation service and committal up
there, and he lies there in the cemetery The
family are all going to be brought home. He
wrote me. He said, “I was in Nevada longer
than I was ever any place, and I loved it.”

Now, you see, there’s a lot of personal
stuff in that particular thing, but it does give
you a background on him. Now, there was a
little difference between Hunting and Bishop
Lewis. Hunting was a little careless, maybe, in
his dress. He’d smile, but his approach was a
little more abrupt, but he was loved, too.

Now, Mayor Roberts died. He was very
active and was our mayor a couple years. We
had a public service for him. I don’t know
whether we had a Masonic service and then
an Episcopal minister; I think we had it in
the old blue lodge room down here. I’d have
to look up the date on that, but that wouldn’t
make any difference. There, a man in office,
passing— that brought out a lot of people.
And from the time that he had been in
Washington and such as that for a long period
of time, there were delegates brought in Then.
His honorary pallbearers were members of
the [Reno city] council.

Now, those are the state funerals. May I
make this comment? In my experience, it is
particularly noticeable that after a man was
out of office for a period of time, or out of
business, or anything like that, as time went on
(he was, of course, approaching retirement),
the interest in the funeral—the interest, I
mean, by way of attending, and such things
as that— Dropped off. I can cite so many of
those, but I don’t think it’s necessary to do it.

I’ve made the statement that these funerals
and the like of that for people who were
in office, and the like of that, [who] died

suddenly, or unusually young, or something
like that, they were (large and) well attended.
And particularly, when they were in federal
or state positions. Now, I would like to make
this observation, that when they went back to
their usual vocations and then became retired,
or semi-retired, and they were along in years,
so many of them had just small funerals, in
attendance. The main reason, I suppose, is
that they’d been out of activity for a number
of years. This community grew, and with the
new people that came in, the fact that former
Governor So-and-so or a former United States
Senator passed on, former mayor or former
superintendent of schools, and such as that,
that spent so much time, they were not well
attended. Yet they were important funerals
to me, and they were certainly important to
the relatives. And they were important to the
community, because the paper used to give a
little background on the individual and let the
new people know who they were.

Conclusion

I am most happy that the University of
Nevada has selected Mrs. Mary Ellen Glass to
head the Oral History Project. Undoubtedly at
the time, she remembered Carlyl’s statement,
“Every noble work is at first impossible.” After
consideration, she must have remembered the
following quotation from the New Testament:
“Knock and the door will open to you. For it
is always the one who asks who receives, and
the one who searches who finds, and the one
who knocks to whom the door opens.”

She knocked at my door, and when it was
opened, she asked my cooperation with the
Project.

It has been said that, “Old age is a good
and pleasant time. It is true that you are
gently shouldered off the stage, but then you
are given such a comfortable front stall as a
spectator, and if you have really played your
part, you are more content to Sit down and
watch.”

Mary Ellens pleasant manner, her apparent
dedication to the work to which she was
assigned, her desire to add to the usefulness
of the University, and her persistence that

I, too, had something to offer which would
help her with the project convinced me that
I should leave the convenient stall. I then
remembered what Benjamin Franklin once
said, “Either write things worth reading, or
do things worth writing.”

I am happy that she recalled me from
my comfortable stall as a spectator and hope
that what is recorded here may be helpful
in providing useful information that is in
keeping with the purpose of the Oral History
Project at the Library of the University of
Nevada in Reno.

Original Index:
For Reference Only

In order to standardize the design of all UNOHP transcripts for the online database, they have
been reformatted, a process that was completed in early 2012. This document may therefore differ
in appearance and pagination from earlier printed versions. Rather than compile entirely new
indexes for each volume, the UNOHP has made each transcript fully searchable electronically. If
a previous version of this volume existed, its original index has been appended to this document
for reference only. A link to the entire catalog can be found online at http://oralhistory.unr.edu/.

262

Silas E. Ross

Abel,

James F.,

167,

168,

172

Adams,

Brewster

, 466

Adams,

Eva B.,

593,

594

Adams,

James E.

, 231

, 254

258

Adams,

Jewett,

Adams,

Maxwell,

140,

212,

266,
Adams,

384-385

Romanzo,

117,

133

Agricultural Experiment
Station, University of
Nevada, 85, 86, 93, 94,
95-96, 99, 103-104, 108,
116, 149-150, 159-160,
178, 211, 214, 243-244,
271

Agriculture, College of
(University of Nevada),
83, 142, 150, 211, 212,
214, 230-231, 233-234,
243-245, 255, 301
Alt, George, 12, 54
Alt family (Glenc
Alter, Harry,

American As
University
(j

igus cattle, 12, 13
Apfelbaugh, Dr., 499, 501
Archer, J. E., 491
Arentz, Samuel S., 568
Arentz, Samuel S., Jr.,

284

Armstrong, Charles J.,

258, 269-270

Artemisia Hall (University
of Nevada), 182

Arts and Science, College
of (University of Nevada)
83

Association of Land Grant
Colleges, 197-198
Asylum Ditch, 66

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